


Cafe Connections

by Dragonlingdar



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Growth, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, Escort Service, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Feelings Realization, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Cheating, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Betrayal, Reconciliation, Sex Work, Sibling Bonding, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unconventional Sexual Education, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, lovers to enemies to friends to lovers, minor character appreciation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-02-26 00:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 115,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18712588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonlingdar/pseuds/Dragonlingdar
Summary: Erhardt had never expected that coffee and scones could lead to the possibility of reconciliation with the man he had both loved--and hurt--the most.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nightmoonz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmoonz/gifts).



> This is the result of fanart and shameless self-indulgence. This work is *extremely* AU. I take a few liberties with characterization because some of the shit that happens to the characters in canon is super messed up (Therion, Primrose, and--to a lesser extent--Olberic’s plot arcs, I’m looking at you) and does not happen in exactly the same way in this universe. There is also a bit of headcanon that I swear makes sense.  
> Also, I love Erhardt and this fandom needs more Erhardt-centric fics and I will fix that on my own if I must.  
> Lastly, the paranoia has never left me: Nothing Octopath Traveler related belongs to me.  
> With all that being said, please enjoy!

Seven years was a long time to avoid someone, but Erhardt was nothing if not stubborn. Still, Leon had been brave enough to call after two years of silence and was Erhardt’s only living family, so if anyone deserved Erhardt clearing his schedule for a day, it was him.  

That didn't mean that Erhardt wasn’t tempted to cancel their meeting--they hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and the years had made things only marginally better.

They had agreed to meet at a small, independently owned cafe in Noblecourt--Leon knew the owner and Erhardt had walked by it enough times to find it intriguing; after all, it took a certain level of humor to name a cafe the ‘Coffee Monster Cafe.’  It was attached to a used book store that Erhardt had browsed once on an off day--the book selection was eccentric, but charmingly so.

Erhardt found himself standing outside the cafe, oddly nervous. He knew that at his most slovenly he still looked like he stepped out of a fashion magazine, so he wasn’t worried about what _he_ looked like--he was more concerned that he wouldn't recognize Leon.

 _Don’t be stupid,_ he told himself. _You're brothers and have been told since you were young that the family resemblance is undeniable. He can’t have changed_ that _much._

Erhardt opened the cafe door and stepped over the threshold.

The strong scent of coffee washed over him, although he was surprised at how well he could smell the baked goods that were displayed proudly on a covered counter.  The floors were a medium-tan hardwood, as were the wood beams that ran across the ceiling. The walls were painted a pale yellow, but were mostly obscured due to the copious number of pictures and paintings, all of which were apparently for sale.  Dark curtains were hooked on either side of the two large glass windows that allowed one to look into the cafe from the front. The large room was well lit, and quiet music that Erhardt distantly recognized from a movie soundtrack played over unseen speakers, although it was mostly drowned out by the chatter of the patrons.  An eclectic--and often clashing--mix of small tables and chairs were situated beneath each window; the tables were barely wide enough for one person to sit on each side, although the chairs at least looked like they were comfortable, as far as cafe chairs went. The wall to the left of the main counter was also lined with tables and chairs, and a surprisingly dense amount of people were gathered there.  The general decor was haphazard, as if the proprietor merely picked out pieces they found interesting without regard for what else was present. It was both intriguing and mildly annoying.

A surprisingly large tea selection was listed on a chalkboard that hung on the wall behind the polished wood counter, the writing clear and precise cursive. The typical cafe offerings were printed on a number of panels and posted alongside the tea list. Specials and temporary coffee roasts were listed on a small blackboard that was propped in front of the lone cash register, the handwriting on it a messy print. On either side of that list were plastic tip jars, indicating that a tip in one jar indicated a vote for or against the particular thing being decided that day.

The typical equipment was carefully arranged and gleaming, and Erhardt could see that there was as much ceramic and glassware displayed as probably-biodegradable plastic and cardboard containers, which meant that those who stayed and sat at the numerous, tiny tables were given the washable cups and mugs instead.

Three people were behind the counter, all wearing black aprons that were unadorned save for name tags.

A particularly exhausted looking young man with what seemed to be naturally silver hair was manning the ostensibly register, although his eyes halfway closed; it appeared that he was losing the fight to ward off sleep in spite of the giant cup of coffee precariously close to his right elbow. His name tag proclaimed him to be Therion. In spite of his haggard and slightly disgruntled expression, his posture was perfect and his clothing in good order. He at least carried himself like one who was used to being judged in the public eye.

The young man who was washing dishes was the complete opposite of Therion. His blonde hair was in utter disarray and pulled into a small ponytail--Erhardt would wager that his hair hadn’t seen a brush or comb in years. His clothing had probably been taken out of a pile of clean laundry he hadn’t bothered to fold and put away, given the distribution of wrinkles. While Erhardt couldn’t see the young man's face or name, he was happily chatting at Therion who provided mostly monosyllabic responses, if any at all.

A young woman was standing behind the section of counter that displayed the baked goods, and her appearance, even by objective standards, was angelic. Her short, glossy, well-kempt pale blonde hair framed a face that was only lightly treated with makeup, blue eyes sparkling with amusement beneath pale blue eyeshadow. Her clothing was as ordered as her face, even her apron impeccable and free of any stains. Her name tag was at an angle to Erhardt, however, so he couldn't see her name except for the suggestion of an ‘O' at its start.  

Another woman walked out from a back room, her uniform indicating that she was most likely the manager.  Her long, red-brown hair was pulled back into a messy braid, her face unadorned save for what was probably lip gloss.

Her green eyes were sharp and her expression severe in the way of one who takes everything far too seriously.  Her short-sleeved polo shirt was a little tight across her chest, although that was probably more due to her arms and shoulders being much more muscular than the size of her bosom; the blonde girl clearly didn’t mind, given how a blush stained her cheeks and she looked deliberately away.  The new woman’s name tag proclaimed her to be named H’aanit.

“Over here!”

Erhardt turned towards the familiar voice and smiled.  Leon had barely changed, the only difference being a few grey hairs and the fact that he had let his hair grow out.  At the moment, it hung freely down his back, although a few strands did fall over his shoulder; his black, button-down shirt was partly open, which showed a white shirt beneath it, and the sleeves were folded up to his elbows.  Black-going-grey jeans were tucked into work boots. Erhardt felt a little guilty over how relieved his brother looked--Erhardt had only been _five_ minutes late, but the tension that he saw slowly draining out of Leon’s shoulders and the cell phone that his right hand was resting on said he had probably been checking the time every fifteen seconds or so.  

Erhardt walked over and removed Leon’s blue jacket from the seat--which had probably been how he had doggedly claimed the seat as occupied.  Erhardt slipped his bag from his shoulder, set it on the ground in front of the chair, then took the seat; unsurprisingly, he had been right--the seat cushions were quite comfortable.

“I should have done what you did,” Leon said once Erhardt focused on him.

Erhardt quirked an eyebrow.  “Show up five minutes late?”

“No, put my hair up.  I didn’t think it’d be so _hot_ in here.”

Erhardt laughed softly.  “I have a few spare hair ties--you never know when one will break.  Give me a second.”

Erhardt fished around in his bag before pulling out a brush with a number of hair ties wrapped around its handle.  “They’re all clean, I swear.”

Leon snorted.  “I trust you,” he said and accepted one that Erhardt offered.  Leon pulled his hair back, but an uneasy silence fell between them after that.

Leon took a deep breath and said, “Thank you for agreeing to meet me here.”

Erhardt shrugged.  “I had the day off anyway, and well...it _has_ been seven years since we physically saw each other, and about two since we spoke.”

“I know.”

Erhardt cleared his throat.  “So, you know the owner of this establishment?”

Leon smiled and nodded.  “Cyrus is a good man--eccentric sometimes, but a good man.  All the products here are _truly_ fair trade--trust me, as I provide them with the goods, I’ve triple checked.  The baked goods are local--Calzione’s Confections. You know the place?”

“Of course,” Erhardt responded.  “It’s a new bakery, but is already gaining a stellar reputation.  I’ve heard that the owners moved here from Rippletide.”

“Yeah,” Leon said, and Erhardt was made curious by how Leon’s cheeks flushed a light pink.  “They have.”

“Oh, you were based in Rippletide for a while, weren’t you?  Don’t tell me you followed them here?”

“Of course not,” Leon scoffed.  “You know my business takes me everywhere.  Rent just was cheaper here than on the seashore.  I was also getting _really_ tired of tourists during the summer.”

Erhardt’s bullshit meter was quite sensitive and accurate, so while he knew Leon was lying, he saw no reason to call him on it.  Instead, he said, “You’re looking well.”

“Thanks.  I’ve been trying to keep some weight off.”

Erhardt gave Leon a brief once-over and said, “Well, it certainly seems like you’ve been doing quite well at it.  You’ve definitely gained some tone and definition. You do a lot of lifting, I’m guessing? Biceps like yours don’t come easy.”

“Oh, that has to do with lifting obscenely large bags of coffee.  I do more running and swimming. It’s the price I pay for the amount of baked goods I’ve had lately.”

Erhardt propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on the backs of his interlaced fingers.  “Oh? Then, is it safe to assume that you’re the one responsible for the delivery of the displayed goods over there?  I was surprised at how I could smell them in spite of the coffee. Have you begun taking payment in the form of pastries instead of money or are you just sampling along the way?”

“The Colziones deserve the reputation they’re earning,” Leon said as he looked to the display. “And, no, they pay me.  It’s just that their daughter has taken a shine to me, so often makes sure I have extras that I can go home with.”

Erhardt hummed, intrigued by the softness that had formed in Leon’s eyes and the small smile.

 _It seems like he may have taken a liking to her as well,_ Erhardt thought as he turned his attention back to the conversation.

“They’re good people, too,” Leon continued.  “They pay their employees well, donate all the unsold and nearly-expired food to the Church and give away the burnt baked goods to the homeless and hungry.”

“It’s nice to be reminded that there are still good and upright people in the world,” Erhardt murmured.  “So, do you work for Cyrus exclusively, or are you still mostly running your own business?”

“Both, in a way.  I still trade with and to other companies and pursue other opportunities, but I spend more time working for here and the bakery.  Honestly it’s...enjoyable. I thought I’d be bored, but I’m, well, _not_.”

“I’m glad you’ve found something you enjoy doing.”

After another small, awkward pause, Leon asked: “So, how have _you_ been?”

“I’ve been doing well,” Erhardt responded.  “Keeping busy. I find myself obtaining clients off of reputation and recommendation these days.  I am actually trying to start a small business, but it’s a pet project more than anything else. I think I’ve had three true clients, although they were kind enough to leave positive reviews.”

“It’s good to have a hobby, and I’m glad that your usual business has been both steady and manageable.”

“I enjoy being sought-after.  It lets me be a little more selective.”  Erhardt smirked. “Although the gods help some of these people if I ever find a reason to break the non-disclosure agreements.”

Leon returned the smirk before he responded: “I’m just glad you’re not working yourself to death.  It sounds like you’re enjoying yourself again, or, at least, the way you used to.”

“It helps that my profession can be quite pleasurable.”

Leon hummed and sat back in his chair as his hands cradled a cup of what Erhardt guessed was the dregs of a cappuccino.

“Since those pastries do smell quite good, do you have one you’d recommend?” Erhardt asked.  “And since you’re the coffee expert in this situation, what should I purchase?”

“Everything _is_ quite good,” Leon responded.  “As for coffee, you can’t go wrong with the dark roast.”

Erhardt fished his wallet out of his bag before he stood. “I won't be long.”

A small line had formed, but Erhardt didn't mind waiting. He had known that things would be stilted between him and Leon, if only because of the spectre of the argument that hung between them. He hadn't thought _he_ would be so nervous, but he had and did love his brother, and had only kept his distance out of anger initially and then pride.

 _Come on, Erhardt, you can do better than this,_ he scolded himself. _Think!_

He finally reached the front of the line to find that the blonde girl--Ophilia by her name tag--had taken over the register.

“Hello and welcome to the Coffee Monster,” she said as she gave him a somehow _sincere_ and perky smile. “What would you like?”

“What's your favorite pastry?”

“Pardon?”

“This is my first time here, so I'm not sure what to get. My brother said that everything is good, which is less than helpful.”

“I love the strawberry scones,” Ophilia responded.

“Then I'll take one of those and just a regular, medium-sized dark roast.”

Ophimia nodded, tapped in prices on an honest-to-gods vintage cash register, did the calculation for tax on a calculator next to the register, typed in _that_ and then read off the total.

There was, thankfully, a credit card reader, and Erhardt handed his card over.

“You don’t have anything more modern than that?” Erhardt asked, curious, after the card was returned to him.

“The Professor--er, Mr. Albright--says that the ability to do basic math in one’s head is an important life skill.  In reality, I think he just likes the bell sound. Mr. Eisenberg is petitioning on our behalf to obtain a modern cash register, but it is an uphill battle.”

Erhardt had been looking forward to the scone and coffee; however, the mention of _that_ particular name completely soured his stomach.

“Do you want the scone to be warmed?” Ophilia asked.

“No, thank you. I’ll take it the way it is.”

“And are you staying here?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.  Just wait a second and we’ll have you both,” Ophilia responded.  “Alfyn! Medium size dark roast and a strawberry scone for here.”

“I gotcha,” came the response from the bed-headed blonde man.  

“I love your hair,” Ophilia said before Erhardt could step to the side.  “How do you get it to have that much volume?”

“I’m willing to spend the necessary money on products.  I don’t think I would be lying if I said that half my bathroom is hair products,” Erhardt replied, smiling.  “And your makeup is impeccable, Ophilia.”

Ophilia returned his smile.  “Thank you! Oh, I forgot to ask your name.”

“Erhardt Bastralle,” Erhard responded.  “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Bastralle?  Are you related to Leon Bastralle?”

Erhardt nodded.

“Oh, I shouldn’t have charged you,” Ophilia said, frowning slightly.  “He’s such a nice man and does so much for us.”

Before their conversation could continue, Alfyn arrived with both coffee and scone.

“Here ya go!  Er, sir,” he said and carefully slid a ceramic cup and plate across the counter to Erhardt.

“Thank you,” Erhardt responded and walked away from the counter towards his brother, Ophilia’s chirp of ‘Enjoy!’ following him.

The country of Hornburg had been in a slow, painful decline for many years after the dissolution of its monarchy, and most of its powerful noble houses had lost their power to the new government--the Eisenbergs had been such a house, and most scattered across the globe once they realized that their name no longer held influence or purpose.  It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility for one of them to have settled in Noblecourt.

 _If the gods are merciful, it won’t be him,_ Erhardt thought as he settled down in the chair across from Leon.  

When he looked up from putting his wallet away, Leon was frowning.

“Is something wrong?” Erhardt asked.  

“I feel like I should be asking _you_ that question,” Leon replied.  “What happened between when you left and now?”

Erhardt smiled and broke his scone in half. “Nothing important.  This shop is co-owned by someone named Eisenberg?”

Leon nodded.  “Cyrus’ co-owner is Eisenberg. Cyrus is the one with the grand vision and lofty plans for this and his book shop next door--the outward face of this establishment.  Eisenberg is the grounded one who takes care of things like finances and supplies--the inner-facing one. He’s usually here in the mornings, while Cyrus takes afternoons.”

“Eisenberg is a Hornburgian _surname_. Do you know his first name?”

Leon shook his head. “Sorry. Everyone calls him Eisenberg and I never thought to ask.”

Erhardt nodded and forced his stomach to settle.  “I see.”

“Did you have some, ah, _problems_ with an Eisenberg?”

“Not professionally,” Erhard replied.  “The older the house, the better they tend to treat the escorts they hire.  It’s always the _nouveau riche_ who cause trouble and end up blacklisted.”

“Huh.  I wouldn’t have thought that.  Old money tends to breed snobs, at least in my experience.”

“When _you_ interact with old money, you’re usually dealing in art and artifacts, objects that can be displayed and owned.  Old money believe that with inheritance and pedigree they are capable of determining the worth of _things_ that can permanently reflect their taste and status,” Erhardt said.  “I’m an independent contractor who can ruin their reputation if they don’t treat me well; the public eats up the kind of scandal I can cause and government fines are _steep_ , as they are commensurate with my rate.  Being able to afford _me_ also bestows its own status--I’m not cheap.”

“Huh. I suppose that makes sense.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“So, if you didn’t have trouble with an Eisenberg professionally, there was a more...personal...grievance between you two?”

Erhardt barely kept himself from grimacing by taking a sip of his coffee.  “You could say that.”

“Is _that_ the reason that you started to pull long shifts and took on too many clients?  I’m grateful that you've mellowed over the past seven years.”

“One of the things they teach you is to know your limits,” Erhardt murmured as he broke the scone into four pieces.  “I told you then, and I will repeat it now: in order to do my job well, I am _required_ to take care of myself.  But, yes. I was perhaps overzealous for a couple of years.  It was better than thinking of him, of remembering…well, it has been eight years since that particular event.  I’ve recovered, and I hope he has, as well. But, let’s not speak of the past.”

“Very well,” Leon said slowly.  “Just know that I have always wanted to be there for you, just as you were there for me when Baltazar...died...and I was a mess.”

Erhardt barely kept his expression neutral.  A _mess_ was the understatement of three lifetimes.  Erhardt had nearly needed to chain Leon to him to keep him from following Baltazar into the afterlife.  It had hurt, seeing his brother so badly broken, but they had managed to glue Leon’s pieces back together.  It was imperfect, but if Leon had indeed started to take a liking to this baker’s daughter, Erhardt had hope.

“I know, and I appreciate it,” Erhardt said and lightly patted Leon’s hand before finally taking an actual bite of the scone.  He looked down at the rest of the scone, his expression one of surprise. “Ah, now I know why you have had to exercise so much if this is what you are treated to on a daily basis.  This is delicious, and I’ve been treated to some world-famous bakeries.”

“I never put much stock in TLC in cooking before I tried some of their desserts but, well, I truly believe that that is the key ingredient in what they make.”

“I forgot how much of a sap you can be,” Erhardt responded after taking a sip of his coffee.  “Now, tell me a story. You must have traveled someplace interesting and met fascinating people over these past years.  I could tell _you_ stories, but I fear that you’d make a scene.  I have exquisite recall for details.”

Leon snorted.  “To be honest, it may be worthwhile to hear your stories.  I don’t think I’ve gotten laid for five years.”

“The more interesting ones don’t involve sex, you know.  It’s also rude to inflict my more explicit ones on the unsuspecting public.  Consent is paramount, Leon.”

Leon smiled wryly.  “True.”

After eating two more pieces of the scone, Erhardt spoke again: “Do you think they’d let me open an account?  I have quite a few clients who would deeply appreciate this quality. Of course, it would also serve the dual purpose of having a particular delivery man visit time to time.”

Leon smiled wryly.  “It would. And yes, they do.  I think one of your older friends--Victorino?--has an account with them.”

“He always had good taste.  I’m annoyed that he found Calzione’s Confections before I did, though.”  After another sip of coffee, Erhardt asked: “Do you still employ Mikk and Makk?”

“Yes, I still have those two lovable buffoons.  Don’t feel too bad about Victorino knowing before you--we dated for a few months but he moved too soon for it to go anywhere.”

“I’m glad they still work for you.  I honestly think they would defend you and your honor to the death.  How is Victorino doing these days? I lost touch with him when he quit and moved to Victor's Hollow.”

Erhardt found himself slowly relaxing as he fell into the familiar rhythm of conversation.  Erhardt had forgotten how well he and his brother could get along when they weren’t bitterly angry with each other.  He barely noticed when he finished his coffee.

Leon was halfway through a story about an adventue during his stint as a pirate when a cheerful voice broke in:  “Leon!”

Leon’s face abruptly lost some color as he looked over Erhardt’s shoulder.  Erhardt was going to turn around, but the owner of the voice appeared at their table quickly enough.  She had short, dark brown hair and sparkling green eyes. Her smile was mischievous and playful, and the entirety of her attention was focused on his brother.  She wore a yellow blouse with, capped, puffy sleeves and tight blue jeans with embroidered pockets. A gold hair clip kept her hair out of her eyes, and the simple necklace she wore was intended to draw the eye down to the rather risque cut of her shirt.  Her flirting had the subtlety of someone who was _extremely_ thirsty--which was to say, none at all.  Leon was actually looking a little overwhelmed by her attention.  

Erhardt had no sympathy for him--it was simply too funny.

“Sir Erhardt, how strange of you to slum with the commoners.”

Erhardt rolled his eyes.  “Hello, Lady Azelhart. I could say much the same of you.”

He felt Primrose’s hand rest on the back of his chair and her familiar scent drifted over him.  

Erhardt would consider the Azelhart family the patron saint of his profession.  Not only had they thrown their political weight around enough to legalize and legitimize his line of work, they had established schooling and registration protocol that elevated his work and allowed him to ask the rate he did.  Naturally, there were those who worked unregistered--either through force or choice--and it still carried a number of hurtful misconceptions, even a century after legalization. However, with the Azelhart heir being a dancer and her closest advisor a highly sought-after escort, sheer _exposure_ was inureing the populace to  it.

Primrose and he had met during a particularly high-brow affair and had immediately disliked each other.  A few years and collaborative efforts later, they tolerated each other with the same kind of affection as one would a particularly irritating family member.   
Primrose and he had a surprisingly familiar fashion sense--they both prefered red and gold.  Stacked golden bracelets ringed both her wrists, and her nails were painted bright red. She wore a red high-low skirt with gold-tinted gauzy chiffon overlying the cloth, and a decorative belt of what seemed like hammered vintage gold coins was slung around her waist.  She had chosen a red, three-quarter length, cold-shoulder shirt with vine-like embroidery at the hem, neck, and ends of her sleeves as her top, and a layered necklace and large hoop earrings completed her outfit. The tasteful application of makeup highlighted her large, dark eyes and full lips.

“He’s not your usual kind of client,” Primrose murmured.

“Probably because he’s my _brother,”_ Erhardt drawled.

A flash of surprise crossed Primrose’s face before it settled into a dangerous kind of amusement.  “I see the family resemblance now. Too bad he was the one who got the good looks in your family.”

“He’s the more handsome,” Erhardt said.  “But I’m the prettier one.”

Primrose snorted.  “You give yourself too much credit.”

“You know him Prim?”

Erhardt looked over to see that his brother’s face was a particularly bright shade of red and the young woman had turned her attention to them.

“I do,” Primrose replied.  “Erhardt, this is Tressa.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Erhardt said and extended his hand.  Tressa’s grip was strong and she smelled strongly of baked bread.  “Is your last name Colzione?” he hazarded.

Tressa blinked, then smiled.  “Yup. How could you tell?”

“You carry a scent similar to the scone I just ate.  Your family’s baking ability is truly extraordinary.”

That turned Tressa’s smile into a grin.  “I know, right?”

 _I like this girl,_ Erhardt thought.   _She’s going to give my brother hell._

“What brings you down here, Lady Azelhart?” Erhardt asked.

“Professor Albright is a friend of the family--we gave him the money to get this off the ground,” Primrose responded.  “So I get free hot chocolate and pastries as often as I want.”

“And she has friends here, too!” Tressa added.  “Me and Therion, primarily, but she gets along with the others, too.   _Right_ , Prim?”

Tressa’s tone said that her statement wasn’t a complete truth, and the slightly stubborn set to Primrose’s shoulders confirmed that.

“It must certainly be interesting every time you grace this cafe with your presence, Lady Azelhart,” Erhard said.  “You’ve already attracted the attention of half the patrons in the store. The ones not focused on me, naturally.”

Primrose rolled her eyes.  “Stop sucking your own dick, it’s unseemly.  C’mon, Tress.”

The two young women walked away as Erhardt laughed.  

“She’s such a bitch,” Erhardt said, affection lacing his tone.

“You have the strangest way of getting along with some people,” Leon replied.

Erhardt turned to see that his brother’s face was more-or-less back to its normal color, although Erhardt couldn’t decide if his expression said he was flattered, flustered, or furious.  

“I like Tressa,” Erhardt said, which earned him a glare.

“I should have known you would,” Leon grumbled.  “You were good at making my life hell, and she’s doing just as good a job, albeit in a very different way.”

Erhardt snickered.  “Oh, I’m sure. Do you want to know my trick for getting rid of inconvenient erections?”

Leon groaned and rubbed his eyes.  “ _Must_ you?”

“Absolutely.  Now, it’s taken me some time to perfect, but it’s quite effective.”

“Please stop,” Leon replied.  “I’ll be fine. Just...I don’t know, return our plates.  I should be better by the time you return.”

“Very well,” Erhardt said. He gathered their used mugs and plates, carefully stacked them, and headed over to where there were three bins, one marked for cups, one for flatware, and the third for dishes.  Just as Erhardt had finished separating everything, the back door opened and Erhardt froze.

He would never forget that cologne.  

Time had changed Olberic, although not in any way that would keep Erhardt from immediately recognizing the man.  The streaks of grey in his hair made him look distinguished, and while the scars were new, they lent a pleasantly rugged edge to his appearance.  Erhardt was glad that the man hadn’t forgotten Erhardt’s lessons in how to dress to highlight his musculature and the strength in his body that had always made Erhardt feel safe; his blue, long-sleeved, button-down shirt was fitted, and his black pants were the accurate size.  He was half out of his jacket, but the motion was frozen, his deep brown eyes wide in shock and fixed on Erhardt.

“ _Erhardt_?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I have the motivation, I am going to continue to write.
> 
> Also, nothing Octopath related belongs to me.

_ Of course  _ he _ is the co-owner,  _ Erhardt thought as he shoved his own shock down.  _ Why should i have expected otherwise? _

“Hello, Olberic,” Erhardt replied.

Emotions flickered across Olberic’s face as they stood in silence--surprise, fear, anger, grief, and the smallest bit of pleasure--before settling on a sort of wary neutrality. 

“Welcome to the Coffee Monster, Sir Erhardt,” Olberic said as he finished taking off his coat.  “What brings you to my cafe today?” 

Practice and pride kept Erhardt from flinching.  It felt  _ wrong _ to hear the honorific come from Olberic.  While it was  _ technically _ the correct way to address him, Erhardt only demanded it from clients that were being particularly difficult.

_ Say something! _ Erhardt yelled at himself.

“I was visiting the book shop next door--used book stores are rare, and I find the collection charmingly eccentric,” Erhardt said, keeping his voice light and neutral.  “I decided to investigate the coffee shop once I smelled the pastries, and happened to run into my brother.” 

Olberic smiled wryly.  “Leon is a good man. I hope you enjoyed the pastries; we’re lucky that the Colziones agreed to deliver to our cafe,” Olberic said after his eyes slid from Erhardt and to the bins of dirty dishes.  “Perhaps having such a famous person as yourself visit our cafe will draw more attention to it--thank you. Unfortunately, I have business to attend to. I hope you have a good day.”

“Wait, perhaps I can do more to spread the word,” Erhardt said and fished around in a pocket.  He always carried his business cards-- _ where were they _ ?  “I’m running a small marketing agency on the side now; perhaps I can assist?” he said once he finally found his business card case.  He picked out the correct card and extended it to Olberic.

Olberic looked between the card and Erhardt, then carefully took it.  Olberic turned the piece of cardboard over to examine the contact information listed, and Erhardt used every scrap of training to keep his breathing even and his posture and expression relaxed.  He didn’t actually care if Olberic agreed to use that particular service--what was making it hard to breathe was the simple gold wedding band on Olberic’s ring finger.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Olberic eventually said and tucked the card away.  

“Thank you.  I hope to hear from you.”

Olberic nodded, then walked away, tension and the echoes of pain in every line of his body.  

Erhardt gathered himself, took a deep breath and let it out slowly before returning to Leon, whose eyes were flickering between where Olberic had disappeared to and Erhardt.  

“Is  _ he _ the Eisenberg who hurt you?” Leon asked, a cautious, protective anger tinging his voice.

“I have a history with Olberic, yes,” Erhardt said as he picked his bag off the floor.  “Can we go for a walk?”

“Yes, definitely,” Leon said as he stood up, and he steadied the chair that teetered precariously due to his sudden movement.

Erhardt felt tension leave his shoulders the minute he stepped outside and away from the man whose mere  _ presence _ brought on a thousand memories.

“Okay, what did he do to you?” Leon asked once he caught up to Erhardt, who had begun to walk briskly towards a nearby park.  

“What did  _ he _ do?” Erhardt repeated, a bitter laugh in his voice.  “Nothing, Leon, except make the mistake of loving me.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

Erhardt took the hair tie out of his hair and ran his fingers through it, the motion reflexive; unfortunately,  it also served to remind him of all the times Olberic would do the exact thing while murmuring soft words that made Erhardt melt.

“Olberic was my first serious lover after Werner,” Erhardt said after retying his hair.

Leon’s emotions were always transparent, and his dislike at even  _ hearing _ Werner’s name was obvious.  “A  _ ferret _ would make a better lover than Werner.”

Erhardt absently patted Leon’s should.  “Yes, well. Olberic and I were together for a few years.”

“Why did I never meet him before now?  Why did you never  _ tell _ me about him?”

“Because when we were together, you were driving all across Osterra in an attempt to escape the ghost of Baltazar,” Erhardt replied.  “I was about five-thousand times more concerned about you and your physical and emotional health than telling you about my  _ lover _ when you had so recently lost yours.” 

“And you two parted on poor terms?   _ How _ ?  Eisenberg is one of the most upstanding men I know.  I can’t imagine him deliberately hurting you,” Leon said.  “Although I am  _ pissed _ at him now.  We’ve been working together--he has  _ known _ my last name--and he has never mentioned you ever!  If I had known you two had a history, I wouldn’t have brought you there.”

“Perhaps it’s better this way,” Erhardt said.  “If I had known he was there, I would have continued to avoid him anyway if you told me about him.”

Leon scratched his head in obvious frustration, then said, “Could you...tell me what happened?  What did he  _ do _ to you?”

Erhardt’s brisk pace slowed once they reached the park.  He absently nodded at a frequent client, who gave him a small smile back.  

_ I have an appointment with him in a week, don’t I? _ Erhardt thought distantly.   _ Dinner and theatre.  What are we seeing again? _

“Erhardt?”

Erhardt looked over to Leon, whose concern had clearly deepened.  “You know you can trust me, right?” Leon said. “I will  _ always _ be on your side, no matter how good of a friend Eisenberg--Olberic?--was.”

“Like I said, it wasn’t his fault,” Erhardt replied.  “I…” Erhardt sighed. “I have never been more afraid then when I was in love with him.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed.  “Explain.”

Erhardt snorted.  “He’d never physically hurt me, Leon--well, not unless I asked him.  You should know that from working with him; he’s a softy, even if he tries to play the stoic.”

“That isn’t an explanation.”

Erhardt sighed.  “I loved him, Leon.  I loved him  _ so much _ that I became terrified of losing him.  Even though he knew my profession, even though he accepted and loved me regardless of Hornburg prejudices, I suppose I didn’t quite believe it.  I always looked for the tells I saw in my clients that said they were no longer in love with their spouses or lovers when we interacted--and they were  _ never _ there.  However, instead of doing anything  _ remotely _ healthy, like talk with him about my fears, I decided that it would be better to break up with him.  I didn’t think I could emotionally survive if he broke up with me, if  _ he _ told me he no longer loved me, wanted me, cherished me.”  

Erhardt fell silent, the echoes of that fear still so  _ clear _ .  

“So you broke up with him,” Leon said.  “Did he not take it well or something? I can see him being a still-waters-run-deep person.”

Erhardt laughed, the sound bitter and low.  “Of course he didn’t take it well, Leon--that was the  _ point.   _ I did  _ everything _ I could to make sure he would never love me again.  I can still see the light, the  _ love _ , dying in his eyes, Leon, when I let myself fall too far into my memories.  The  _ pain _ , the confusion, the betrayal.  I broke his heart, Leon, because I was scared of how much I loved him.  I never wanted to see him again, and I wanted to make sure he felt exactly the same way, if not more so.  Gods know my plan worked brilliantly.” Erhardt shook his head. “Back there in the cafe? I expected far, far worse.  I  _ deserve _ far worse.  I can’t figure out how our conversation was so  _ civil. _ ”

Erhardt felt Leon’s arm slip around his shoulders as his younger brother pulled him into a half-hug.  “We all do stupid shit when we’re scared.”

“Not all of which ends up in severe emotional trauma,” Erhardt drawled in response.  

“Well, no, but…” Leon sighed and hugged Erhardt a little more tightly.  “Look, I’m sorry.”

“You literally didn’t know,” Erhardt pointed out.  “There is nothing for you to be sorry about.”

“I was kinda hoping that our first meeting in seven years would go a little better, though.”

“I think it  _ has _ been going fairly well,” Erhardt said.  “It was Olberic and mine’s meeting that went about as well as I thought it would.  So, tell me. How exactly did you meet Tressa? She’s fearless.”

Leon groaned and let Erhardt go, accepting the change in topic.  “Fearless? That’s one word for it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“We did initially meet in Rippletide,” Leon said.  “I was still running a shipping company as well as land deliveries back then, and Rippletide is a sea port without the exorbitant prices of Grandport.  She was so curious about everything! Where the routes went, the differences between land and sea trade, who my international trading partners were, and so on.  I admit I may have made the mistake of taking her under my wing and starting to teach her the finer points of running a trade business. When I noticed she had started to more than just  _ admire _ me...well, it was awkward, so I left.  I’ve actually lived in Saintsbridge, Grandport, and Clearbrook, too. When I finally decided that it was time to reconcile with you, I moved here to Noblecourt, since I knew your main base is here, even though you are apt to travel yourself.  It was then I discovered the Colziones had opened a bakery here. Since I knew them, I figured I should offer them my services at a small discount. I hadn’t expected Tressa to...well, to remember me and for her to have grown up so nicely.”

Erhardt had enough self-control and love for his brother to not snicker.  

“And exactly how long has she been doing her best to seduce you?” Erhardt asked.

“A few months?  It’s been a bit...uncomfortable...because she’s  _ persistent _ .”

“And how do you feel about her?”

“Me?  Erhardt, there’s almost a decade between us.  I don’t feel right about it. Her parents have a five year age difference, so Tressa doesn’t see there being much of a problem, but I do.  She deserves someone closer to her own age.”

“Leon, when I was twenty, I occasionally worked for sixty-year-old men and women.  That’s  _ four _ decades.”

“That doesn’t make matters better, Erhardt!  I don’t need your  _ encouragement _ , I need you to talk me out of this.  It will go nowhere, and I will feel awful for leading her on.”

“You could always  _ try _ dating her,” Erhardt pointed out. “There is no guarantee it will work and you'll get the awkwardness out of the way sooner rather than later.”

“No!  Like I said, I don’t want to lead her on.”

“Then have you tried talking to her about your...concern?”

“Of course I have,” Leon grumbled and scratched his head in frustration.  “The general gist of her response was, ‘I don’t care.’ I told you, she’s  _ persistent _ .”

Erhardt smiled and couldn’t stop a soft chuckle.  “Well, it is  _ your _ love life, far be it for me to judge you on it.  Although, I could teach you some, hm,  _ anti- _ flirting techniques, if you wanted.”

“What?” Leon said, intrigued.

“Sometimes I’ve had to deliberately bungle a seduction in order to achieve the goal of my employment,” Erhardt said.  “There  _ are _ ways to make yourself so distasteful to another person that it gives them a reason to search out someone else.  Admittedly, I’ve also done that to avoid certain clients. Some people just don’t deserve my capabilities.”

Leon laughed.  “Anti-flirting, huh?  I don’t know, I’m not sure I could pull it off.”

“It can’t hurt to learn.”

“It may also make it impossible for me to actually flirt, though, if I take it too much to heart and get too good at it.”

“I suppose you could see it that way,” Erhardt murmured.  He hesitated, then said, “Do you know if Olberic is married?”

“Olberic?  Right, that’s Eisenberg’s first name--you’ll have to give me a little time to connect the two when you speak of him.  No, he’s not. I noticed the ring, too. I asked him about his family one day when he was helping me unload my truck, and he told me he’s divorced.  Apparently he has a kid, but he lives with his mom and step-dad in Victor’s Hollow. They don’t visit all that often, but do see each other for holidays.  As far as I know, the divorce was amendable. He wears the ring because he likes the good memories it represents to him.”

Erhardt didn’t like the wave of  _ relief _ that washed through him upon hearing that.  

_ I did my best to destroy him, _ Erhardt scolded himself.   _ I should be glad he found someone he loved enough to have a child with.  I’m glad that he moved on. _

Erhardt had told himself enough lies throughout his life that he knew it to be one upon thinking it.  

A companionable silence fell between he and Leon as they walked.  The afternoon was waxing, so people were out in force at the park.  Parents walked with children in strollers, groups of friends played frisbee, dogs chased each other in the dog park.  People sat at chess tables, calling out to passers-by for a game. They passed a small man rifling through the garbage, a pole with two large, clear plastic bags crammed full of discarded cans resting on his shoulder.  Couples sat on benches, holding hands and whispering secrets; a man was stretched out and sleeping on another. Pigeons flocked around kids that dispensed seeds under the supervision of caretakers, and a squirrel darted across their path and up a tree.  Erhardt dropped a few leaf into the hat of a person who was huddled up against the statue of a famous general, not bothering to read the sign propped nearby before they came across a woman singing. Erhardt stopped in front of her and listened for a while, Leon hovering a few paces away.  Erhardt clapped in appreciation once she was done and handed over a few leaf, which earned him a grateful smile as he left.

Sunlight filtered through tree leaves and Leon and he passed in and out of shadows as they walked.  Erhardt caught sight of a man he had gotten blacklisted for abusing a relatively new escort and gave him a cruel smile after catching his eyes.  The man blushed, scowled, and turned back to his family. 

“You never relax, do you?”

Erhardt looked over to Leon and quirked an eyebrow.  “Pardon?”

“You’re always watching, always listening,” Leon commented.  “And I never knew you to be so...generous...before.”

Erhardt snorted.  “Leon, during a  _ bad _ year I make an eight-figure salary.  I have more money than I know what to do with, so I try to get rid of as much of it as possible.”

Leon’s eyebrows sharply rose.  “Truly?”

“I remember, Leon,” Erhardt murmured.  “What it was like when we were younger.  Mom and Dad made enough for us to be comfortable, but after they died…”

“You did your best, Erhardt.”

“My best was barely enough to keep us both from starving,” Erhardt spat.  “I’m glad we found you that warehouse job. It got you away, helped you make friends, gave you the time you needed for school...”

“You were, what, 15?  You shouldn’t’ve had to do that in the first place.”

Erhardt shook his head sharply.  “It doesn’t matter. I help because I can help, that’s all.”

Leon gave him a soft smile that made Erhardt barely not scowl.  

“What do you plan to do the rest of today?  I have it completely open for you, so I’m up for basically anything,” Erhardt asked.

“I would actually prefer if we just keep doing this,” Leon said and looked away.  “Walking. Talking. Catching up. A lot can happen in two years, and I know that neither of us told the other everything even when we did speak before.  In spite of all the awkwardness, I’ve been enjoying myself.”

_ I would hope so--I certainly have enough practice in making things  _ enjoyable _ , _ the more cynical part of Erhardt whispered.

“Good,” Erhardt responded with a smile.

“So...what exactly was on that business card you handed Eisenberg?  I doubt it was the one you use for your usual business.”

Erhardt shook his head, found his business card case, retrieved a card and handed it to Leon.  “No, it’s my hobby business. So many people, escorts and otherwise, don’t know how to properly market themselves.  Since I have experience and am exceptionally good at it, if I do say so myself, I figured I might as well start offering it as an alternative service.  The cafe and bookstore seem to be doing well enough, but it can’t hurt to have someone dedicated to promotion instead of relying solely on word-of-mouth.”

“That’s nice of you even  _ offer _ considering your history,” Leon said as he examined the card.

“Nearly eight years is long enough to avoid someone. We’ve both changed, matured.” Erhardt smiled wryly.  “He was actually one of my practical exams.”

Leon nearly dropped the business card and stared at Erhardt.  “ _ What _ ?”

“Self-defense, Leon,” Erhardt teased.  “We ended up talking after that exam because, well, we were impressed with each other’s abilities.  I started seeing him around, and from how he seemed both amused and frustrated each time, I knew that it wasn’t intentional on either of our parts.  So, I asked him out for coffee one day, and he agreed.” Erhardt laughed. “It was so awkward for both of us! I’d never been on a non-work related date before so had little idea how to behave, and he was not always the best when it comes to managing his own emotions.”  

“Sounds like you have some pretty good memories,” Leon commented.

“But that’s all they are--memories,” Erhardt responded.  “Shadows and phantoms, nothing more.”

“And yet you gave him your card,” Leon pointed out.  “Which is a pretty good way to get back in touch with him,” Leon said.

“Well, yes,” Erhardt agreed.  “If he decides to call me.”

_ And I doubt he will,  _ Erhardt thought, a familiar pain and remorse creeping over him.  _ Foolish to even hope... _

“Do you want his number, so you know it’s him when he does?”

Erhardt gave Leon a slightly incredulous smile.  “You honestly think he’ll call me?”

“Anything is possible,” Leon said and tapped a couple times on his phone.  “Here, I’ll write it on your card. You got a pen?”

“Of course,” Erhardt drawled and handed over a pen from his bag.

Leon precariously balanced everything, but eventually managed to write down the phone number, and returned both card and pen to Erhardt.  “He and I are gonna have our  _ own _ chat, though.  Gods know I never wanted to hurt you.  He has some  _ explaining _ to do.”

Erhardt tucked the card away, and couldn't quite quash a smile as he did so.  “It’s okay, Leon.”

“No, it really isn’t.  He more or less  _ lied _ to me, and I need to call him on that bullshit.”

“He was likely trying to focus on  _ you _ , which meant ignoring me.”

“Great, that makes it even worse,” Leon growled.  “Were we ever really friends, or was he trying to reconcile his guilt or whatever using me as your substitute?”

Erhardt had no answer for that, so simply shrugged.  “You’ll find out soon enough, if you really plan to confront him.”

“Of course I do.”

After a short pause, Erhardt said: “Did I ever tell you the story about the poodle and the funeral?”

Leon blinked, then looked to Erhardt, curious.  “No, I don’t think you have.”

“Well, then. This when I was newer to the business and, thus, less recognizable.  You know as well as I do that funerals are for the families of the deceased and not the corpses.  A young woman contacted me about attending as a plus-one to keep her family from pressing her about how it was so sad that she wasn’t married with children yet, because life is so fleeting…”

By the time Erhardt concluded his tale, Leon was barely managing to breathe through his laughter.  He was actually leaning a little bit on Erhardt to keep himself upright. 

“Dear  _ gods, _ ” Leon eventually gasped out, wiping away a couple tears.  “That was so insane that there is no way you could have made it up.”

“Truth is often much stranger than fiction,” Erhardt agreed.  “Where do you live these days?”

“A small way out of town.  Not too far from downtown, but I also like my space.  Big cities make me feel claustrophobic. How about you?”

“Well, that’s confidential information,” Erhardt said and gave him a wink.  “Unless you’re willing to pay me a year’s salary, of course.”

Leon snorted.  “Fine, tell me when we’re not in public.”

Erhardt was about to say something, but ended up coughing to hide a laugh at how Leon’s stomach growled.  “When did you last eat, Leon?”

Leon gave him a slightly sheepish smile.  “I was so nervous that I skipped breakfast, and we’ve wandered and talked through lunchtime.”

“Then let me treat you to my favorite local spot for dinner.”

“No, you won’t.  I have enough to cover anything and  _ you _ probably lost out on clients by taking today off.”

“Scarce resources are always in demand,” Erhardt said with a cheeky smile.

Leon snorted and shook his head.  “Whatever. Lead on.”

Erhardt nodded.  “This way.”

“How is...Gustav, right?  How is Gustav doing?” Leon asked as they walked deeper into downtown.

“Gustav?  Gods, I wouldn’t think you’d remember him!” Erhardt laughed.  

“I try to remember my brother’s friends,” Leon responded.  “He was your first student, too, wasn’t he?”

Erhardt smiled wryly.  “He was. He’s doing well.  He’s teaching now, you know, and doing a much better job of it than I ever did.  He works for the Institute more than freelancing, as the opposite is true for me.  We meet up every now and then so I can let him know who to blacklist and so he can tell me about the newer escorts, which allows me to keep an eye out for them in the field.”

“Those are the only reasons you meet up?  Not because you’re  _ friends _ ?”

“Well, we meet up for drinks sometimes and occasionally to chat and cuddle.  But, really, his focus is on teaching these days. We have recently been getting a lot of...refugees...from Sunshade and Stillsnow.”

Leon scowled at the sidewalk as they walked in silence for a few moments.  “It is probably because your name is well-known.”

“I am aware of that.”

“No, I mean, even outside of Flatlands your reputation precedes you,” Leon said.  “That’s probably why they come here. They know there’s a chance of finding something better, even if they stick to the way of life they know.”

Erhardt sighed. “It’s still so risky to come here regardless of the protections we have in place. There are so many men and women who lie, looking for new bodies, new talent, and pretend to be state licensed. It's why the Institute now has its own division to rooting out the bad ones, or at least making it increasingly difficult to operate.”

“You do your best,” Leon said softly. 

“If only it were enough.  Here we are,” Erhardt said, stopping in front of a small restaurant that was clearly doing brisk business. There were a few tables out front on the sidewalk, and the interior only hinted at a few others.  The waitstaff moved with practiced efficiency through the small spaces and the scent of food drifted out of a visible kitchen, where a few chefs were churning out orders almost as fast as they were given. Erhardt was relieved that he recognized none of the patrons, although the owner gave him a wave before turning back to whatever task required her attention. Erhardt had helped her out of a tight spot in the past, so he always had a table at her restaurant.

Erhardt walked up to the hostess podium and smiled. 

“Table for two?” 

“Name?” the young woman asked, smiling back.

“Leon,” Erhardt responded. 

“It will be about five minutes.”

“That's fine.”

Erhardt stepped back and joined Leon again. 

“It's always the holes-in-the-wall restaurants that are the best,” Leon mused. “There’s this one tiny place in Sunshade that has the best food in the Sunlands, but no one from out of town knows about it.”

Erhardt smiled and nodded.  “The locals take care of each other.”

“True,” Leon agreed. “We should do this more often.”

“Do what?”

“Hang out together.  Talk. For no reason aside from the fact that, y’know, we like hanging out together, no ulterior motives.  You...are having fun, right?”

“Absolutely,” Erhard confirmed.  “You have no idea how nice it is to not be constantly on guard and watching and tailoring my every word.  We should definitely schedule another time to meet up.”

“When are you free next?”

Erhardt took out his phone, scrolled to his calendar, and sighed. “I'm sorry, I'm not even remotely free for at least a month. I have a lot of events coming up and am traveling extensively...it may not be until two months from now that I have an entire day to devote to  _ just _ you.”

“That's fine, I'm flexible,” Leon said with a shrug. “Just get back to me with a date that works for you when you can, ok?”

Erhardt nodded slightly and slipped his phone back into his bag. After a short, strangely uncomfortable pause, Erhardt spoke: “Could you tell me about Cyrus?”

“Hm?  Sure. Why?”

“Because if I don’t end up working with Olberic, I may end up working with him, and I would like to know a little about a potential employer.”

“Well…”

Leon's name was called before he could continue, and they were shown to their table. 

“You know you can order anything you want,” Erhardt said as he wrapped his bag around his seat. 

“Of course, since I'm paying for it.”

“Leon.”

“You're not going to win this fight, so just thank me and tell me what you recommend.”

Erhardt laughed and picked up the menu. “Well, what exactly are you looking for?”

As Erhardt and Leon debated the merits of the dishes, Erhardt forced his shoulders to relax. 

_ You are here with your brother,  _ he firmly told himself as he pointed ignored the bartender.  _ You can speak with Bale later. He looks like he has news. _

With that resolution, Erhardt forced himself to focus on Leon and enjoy the remainder of his time with the brother he had completely written off ever seeing again. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brisk updates because I have the time and inspiration.
> 
> Also, nothing Octopath belongs to me.

Charity balls and galas were some of Erhardt's favorite events to attend, since most of the time he merely had to look pretty and smile. Very little was expected of him aside from his presence and appearance. The balls usually ended up being overnight jobs as well, although his temporary partners always seemed to find that unexpected. 

_ I don’t know why,  _ Erhardt mused as his assistant helped put the finishing touches on his outfit.  _ So often it’s either to fulfill an insecurity or celebrate one-upsmanship.  And I most certainly don’t mind the extra money. _

“Is Miss Ravus nearly ready?” he asked as he slipped a few small makeup supplies in the tailored inner pocket of his jacket. 

The assistant nodded, a tiny smile flickering across her face. “She has gotten better about not fidgeting, but sometimes does not always succeed.”

“Well, then, perhaps good conversation will distract her enough to keep her still,” Erhardt said and gave the assistant a charming smile before leaving to search out the Ravus heiress.

Since she had come of age, Heathcote had employed Erhardt as a chaperone of sorts for Cordelia--not to keep Miss Ravus out of trouble, but to keep it from finding her whenever she was required to attend an event.  As one of the oldest and richest families in Osterra, her wealth drew more unsuitable suitors than Erhardt had ever seen. His presence tended to keep away all but the most dogged, and if they pursued too hard, he took pleasure in verbally eviscerating them until they slunk away.

Of course, there were times he stood back and let Miss Ravus have at them, but, for the most part, she kept her opinions to herself until she and Erhardt were in private.  Certain rules of conduct had to be obeyed until they could gossip and plot over spiked tea together.

The Ravus manor was built to impress and full of famous paintings and rare treasures. The floors were brilliant white marble, the ceilings high and arched, and all the furniture was placed deliberately and with care for its surroundings.  Erhardt knew that, once upon a time, the Ravus family had held a tremendous amount of political power, but now most of its power came from resources. Technically, Cordelia controlled the few sources of precious gems and metals in Osterra, although she left most of the day-to-day affairs to Heathcote.  While she herself was becoming quite adept at managing the “family business,” she was also a young woman who wanted companionship--of both friends and lovers--above almost all else. However, it was hard to trust when it seemed like the only thing people wanted out of her was her money. 

Cordelia liked Erhardt because he treated her like a person.

Erhardt liked Cordelia because she was viciously intelligent and brassy once she discarded the veneer of propriety.

She was sitting on a bar stool as another woman was carefully applying the finishing touches to a rather elaborate hairstyle, strings of pearls twining through her blonde hair. 

Her dress was as understated as she was allowed, given her station and the event.  She was clothed in royal blue that highlighted her eyes. Glittering, iridescent embroidery and crystal pieces formed swirling, shifting patterns on the silk, sweetheart bodice. Her skirt was partly tucked beneath her, layers of delicate chiffon and  crêpe  fabric spreading out around her, tiny embedded crystals catching the light and causing her skirt to flash and glitter when she shifted.  Her strappy silver heels were discarded on the floor and her feet swung lightly back and forth, she not entirely able to control her restlessness.

“Good afternoon, Cordelia,” Erhardt said as he approached.

She gave him a smile that turned into a bit of a wince as her hair was twisted and sprayed to get it  _ just so _ .  

“Good afternoon, Erhardt,” she responded.  “It’s not fair how little time it takes for you to get ready.”

Erhardt laughed and walked over to a jewelry box.  He opened it and began lightly rifling through it.

“Will you let me borrow these ruby earrings?  I think they’d look particularly fetching on me.”

“If you want them, they’re yours.  I’m not a fan of the stone.”

“And what shall you wear tonight?  The pearls look lovely in your hair, but you’ll need at least a necklace, if not a ring or two as well.”

Cordelia groaned.  “Really?”

“With that gown...perhaps green?  I think another shade of blue would just blend in and diamonds are so tacky.  Of course, we could always go matching and have you wearing a few rubies as well.  Although, perhaps opals?”

“Do you just want to take my jewelry box home with you?  Because you certainly seem to like it a great deal more than I do.”

Erhardt flashed her a bright smile.  “I have more than enough of my own, thank you, but I appreciate the offer.”  Erhardt regarded the box for a moment longer before picking up a few pieces. “Opals it is.  First let me do my earrings and I’ll be right over.”

Cordelia laughed.

The earrings were a loud enough statement that they wouldn’t get lost in his hair, but also wouldn’t  _ tangle _ in his hair.  Once he had those positioned to his liking, he walked over to Cordelia with the selected jewelry.  He placed all the pieces on the table that was crowded with hair products, then picked out two rings.  

“Would you give me your hand, Cordelia?”

“I didn’t think you’d be asking that of me ever,” Cordelia teased, but offered it to him.

Erhardt kissed the back of it and winked at her before putting one ring on her finger.  “What do you think? I believed dark opals would be better, but perhaps fire opals or light would be better.”

“I think you’re right.  Dark-on-dark looks boring.”

By the time her hair was done, Erhardt and she had settled on a bracelet and a necklace, which Erhardt clasped around her neck before spreading it out carefully on her  décolletage .  

“There.  I think you’re all set except for makeup.”

Cordelia scowled.  “Must I?”

“We can’t have me looking prettier than you,” Erhardt said.

Cordelia snorted.  “Very few people look prettier than you when you try.”

“Have I ever told you the story of the time I had to fill in for a female escort?”

“What?  No, I don’t think you have.”

“You see, it was during the holidays and female escorts are always much more in demand than males during that time.  The Institute was, more or less, out of female escorts available for hire, but the requests keep coming in. So, one day, I floated the idea of posing as one because, well, I’m gorgeous when I try.  So…” 

Cordelia was hiccuping from laughing once Erhardt was finished his story, and her smile was easier and more genuine.  

“Oh, dear, how sad.  We must wait for your body to calm down before we can put on your face, so we’ll simply have to delay our attendance to the ball.  I’m sure everyone will be  _ so _ upset,” Erhardt drawled, which earned him a grin.  

“H-how do y-you--” Cordelia stopped talking, her face screwing up in an attempt to conquer the hiccups.

“I have found that one of the best ways to get a client to relax in my presence is by selectively revealing some of my...less elegant moments.  Laughter has a way of establishing a bond of familiarity, and they’re more likely to trust me afterwards. A cruder way to put is that, from President to pauper, everyone poops.”

Cordelia burst out laughing again and Erhardt caught her hands to keep her from touching her hair or face. 

“E-Erha-ardt,  _ stop _ ,” she laughed.  

Erhardt gave her a cheerful smile and let her hands go.  “So, let’s finish preparing you so we can make our grand, delayed entrance.”

Erhardt stepped aside and let an equally amused looking makeup artist begin to tend to Cordelia.  Erhardt walked over to a nearby window and gazed out at the Ravus estate. 

_ So much space for only one girl, _ Erhardt thought.   _ Maybe she’ll let me rent out a few rooms to provide for students.  It would at least give her more people to talk to than the ghosts of her parents and Heathcoate.   _

Erhardt sighed quietly as a flock of birds was startled into motion by one thing or another, the small forms disappearing into a different copse of trees.   _ Let’s figure out logistics.  We’ll get there in about an hour, and then will probably be required to stay for about four.  It will then take about another hour to  _ leave _ the party.  That is assuming that all goes well and neither of us gets cornered by a particularly zealous person.  Well, we shall see. _

By the time Cordelia’s make-up was completely applied, she was in business mode.  Erhardt helped her put on her shoes and coat, then offered his arm to her. 

“Ready, Miss Ravus?”

“As ready as I will ever be.”

Cordelia's skirt whispered against the floor as they walked, and they took the stairs carefully to avoid tearing the delicate fabric of her skirt or dislodge a pearl. Heathcote held the back door open for Cordelia, and Erhardt helped her in before getting in the other side. 

Heathcote remained behind in case anyone decided to try their hand at stealing the Ravus’ belongings--as has been the case before--but Erhardt knew the chauffeur and trusted him to get them where they needed to be safely. 

“Remind me what this one is for?” Cordelia asked.

“Charity. I think the money is being raised for medical research of one kind or another.”

Cordelia nodded and looked out the tinted window at the passing scenery. “Right.”

The location was as gaudy and obnoxious as the person who threw it, and the press and paparazzi were out in force. 

“Remember, Cordelia. Chin up, back straight,” Erhardt said as the car pulled to a stop. “The less mind you pay them, the more apt they are to turn their attention elsewhere.”

Cordelia nodded, her mask falling into place easily.

The walk always felt like it lasted forever, when, even when taking their time due to her dress and shoes, it took less than 5 minutes. Erhardt fielded and deflected questions meant for Cordelia as easily as breathing, turning their attention to him so his companion could get away unscathed for at least the beginning of the night.

“Vultures,” Cordelia spat once they were out of the range of microphones and flashing lights. 

“The night is yet young, Miss Ravus,” Erhardt commented. “Please don’t leave my side unless you need to use the restroom.”

Cordelia shot him a strained smile and nodded. 

Erhardt recognized every single person in the room, and counted at least 80% of them having used one service or another from him. The only ones who hadn’t were either too prudish or too young to have sought him out. He was beginning to think he was a rite of passage among the rich. 

They dropped Cordelia's and his coats at coat check, then waded into the throng.

He and Cordelia drifted slowly across the floor, a slow, subtle dance in languid ¾ time. Drinks and appetizers moved like clockwork through the room, and conversation buzzed and sparked, the power that connected all present. Mischief and whispers slunk around their ankles like mist, and countless eyes followed them both, weighing and wanting. 

And always, always the subtle angling for favors.

“You’ve been quiet tonight, Miss Ravus,” Erhardt observed once they hit a break in the sea of attendees.

Cordelia startled slightly and gave Erhardt a small, shaky attempt at a reassuring smile.  “I have a lot on my mind. That is all.”

“Heathcote says a number of young men have increased their courting efforts,” Erhardt commented as they leisurely walked the perimeter of the room, determinedly dodging some of those said young men.

Cordelia’s grip on his arm tightened slightly, the only outward sign of her displeasure.  “They have.”

“And I am assuming you have thus far found them all wanting?”

“Perhaps.”

“As you should.  The majority are strutting peacocks with little regard for anything other than satisfying their pride and that which hangs between their legs.”

Cordelia’s face went bright red as she struggled to swallow down a laugh and ended up coughing instead.  

“Now, we can’t have you getting sick,” Erhardt chided.  “It must be all the cologne. Let’s get some fresh air.”

Erhardt gently led his client out of the banquet-hall ballroom and to the terrace that overlooked the sprawling estate of the host.  She took a deep breath of the evening air and then allowed herself to actually laugh.

“Gods, Erhardt,” Cordelia said as she flashed him a smile.  “Thank you. I needed that.”

Erhardt smirked and followed her to the railing of the terrace.

The breeze was pleasant, and it  _ had _ been getting stuffy in the ballroom.  Erhardt had caught the eye of a younger escort in attendance and nodded, to which she gave him a flirty smile back, a nonverbal, “All is well.”  He tried to keep tabs on anyone he recognized; it made them feel safer, he had found, and also was a warning to the patron to behave.

“Leaf for your thoughts, Miss Ravus,” Erhardt said once the silence had stretched on long enough.

“Erhardt, call me Cordelia, please.”   
“I normally do, but doing so in public would imply a relationship we don’t have,” Erhardt pointed out.  

Cordelia sighed heavily.  “Rules, rules,  _ always _ rules,” she grumbled.  

“Rules can be annoying, yes,” Erhardt replied as he stood beside her.

“Haven't you ever wanted to say ‘screw the rules!’ and do your own thing?”

Erhardt gave Cordelia a sidelong, curious glance, but her focus was somewhere on the horizon, frustration in the set of her shoulders.

“Of course,” Erhardt replied.  “But I helped  _ write _ some of the rules that keep others safe, so I have to at least  _ pretend _ to listen to them nine times out of ten.”

Erhardt caught Cordelia’s wrist before she could run her fingers through her perfectly coiffed hair, which earned him an insincere glare.  

“It’s just so frustrating sometimes,” Cordelia sighed.  “What would my life be like, if I weren’t an heiress? If my...if my  _ wealth _ didn’t seem to define how desirable I am?”

“You’d still be desirable,” Erhardt said and let go of her wrist. He turned to face her and moved the clasp on her necklace behind her, gently nudged her shoulders back and tipped up her chin to correct her tight and angry posture.  “Just for different reasons.”

“Flatterer.”

“You don’t pay me enough to offer insincere compliments, so assume everything I say is genuine. Stay still so I can make you look perfect again.”

Cordelia chuckled and looked back over the carefully manicured garden.  

“What would you do, Erhardt?” Cordelia asked as Erhardt readjusted her dress and lightly refreshed her makeup with the supplies he had hidden on his person. While he tended to use them for himself, the female clients usually liked his attention to every detail of both his appearance and theirs. “If you weren’t an escort, what would you be?”

Erhardt shrugged.  “I don’t know. I’m too pretty to be anything but.”

Cordelia laughed at that and shook her head.  “And you call the boys inside peacocks?”

Erhardt gave her a wink.  “It takes one to know one, Miss Ravus.”

Cordelia smiled back.  “Do you know a girl named Noa?” she asked abruptly. 

Erhardt filed away the quick pivot in topic before saying: “Very faintly.  I believe she is in training to be a disability advocate; she seems to be a passionate young woman.”

“And how would you know that?” Cordelia asked, her eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion.

“So often, those with disabilities are made to feel sexless and undesired, undesirable.  The Board has had numerous conversations with advocates regarding such issues.”

“Which you were a part of?”

Erhardt scoffed.  “Hardly. I avoid the Board like the plague.  I have friends who fill me in on such matters, however.”

“Well, I met her through a mutual friend, Tressa.  It’s really fun talking to her, since  _ she _ doesn’t care about my wealth and status.  Do you have a friend like that, Erhardt?”

“I have a brother who fulfills much the same role.”

Cordelia looked over to him sharply.  “You  _ what _ ?”

“Why so surprised, Miss Ravus?”

“I just...can’t imagine you having a _ sibling _ .”

“Why not?”

They both paused as the old-fashioned bell tolled the time.

“I think we’ve managed to be present long enough, Miss Ravus,” Erhardt said and offered his arm.  “We will make a final round to say goodbye and make polite small talk and then leave as quickly as possible.”

Cordelia sighed heavily and slipped her arm through Erhardt’s.  “If we must.”

“Unfortunately.”

‘Polite small talk’ took an extra two hours, since both of them were detained by different people for different reasons, but unwilling to part from the other for fear of never escaping.  They were support and excuse for the other. By the time they finally reached coat check, Cordelia was exhausted and Erhardt was annoyed on her behalf. He was used to people trying to weasel promises and favors out of him, and had become extremely adept and telling them, in the most polite way possible, to shove it; Cordelia, while equally adept and cutting with her words, had even stricter protocols than he to behave by.

_ She would benefit from a year’s training, but that would be far too much of a scandal.  Perhaps I can convince Eliza to teach her on the sly, _ Erhardt thought as they approached the coat check.   _ Perhaps I could even offer my own services; I am a shit teacher, but much better than nothing. _

Erhardt was intrigued to find the silver-haired young man from the Coffee Monster manning the coat check, although his focus shifted to his temporary partner when he heard Cordelia’s breath catch.  The fact that Therion’s face flushed made Erhardt take a longer look at the young woman beside him--she, too, had the slightly flustered appearance of one running into someone unexpected but very much desired.

Erhardt tugged Cordelia closer to the booth, and she resisted only slightly before following along.  Thankfully, there turned out to be two people running the check, and Erhardt flagged the other down.

“Therion, would you mind watching after Miss Ravus for a moment?” Erhardt asked, giving him a smile.  “I am afraid that she is quite sought-after and wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.”

Therion’s face darkened a shade further and Cordelia gave Erhardt a sharp look that he ignored. 

Erhardt handed over the coat check numbers to the second attendant, who walked away to find them with all the dispassion of the exhausted.  

Once he returned with their coats, Erhardt tipped the assistant enough leaf that the young man  _ stared _ at him, which Erhardt responded to with a flirtatious smile before turning his attention to his young charge.

He barely kept himself from laughing at how  _ flustered _ the both of them looked, at the stilted conversation of budding attraction, how Therion’s eyes seemed to focus anywhere but Cordelia and how Cordelia leaned in when attempting to speak to him.  

It was something that Erhardt had seen countless times during his work, and it never was any less adorable and endearing to watch mutual awkward attraction.  Unfortunately, both he and Cordelia had only a small window within which they could escape. Erhardt put on his coat, adjusted it properly, then approached Cordelia with hers draped over one of his arms.

“Therion, thank you for keeping watch over my charge,” he said smoothly and softly enough that neither of them startled  _ too _ badly, although Cordelia did look a little bit like a deer in headlights while Therion’s face was a not-so-subtle pink.  “Miss Ravus, we must take our leave.”

“Oh,” Cordelia said, looking at her coat like it was the most distasteful thing on the planet.  “I...suppose we do.” 

Erhardt helped her into her jacket, then handed over a few leaf to Therion.  “Again, thank you.”

Therion cleared his throat, nodded, and said, “You’re welcome.”

Erhardt placed his hand on the small of Cordelia’s back and gently guided her out the front door.  Once they were in their car and on the way back to the Ravus manor, Cordelia whirled on him and demanded, “How did you know his name?”

Erhardt smiled.  “Relax, Cordelia.  I was a customer at the coffee shop where he works.”

“He--wait, what?”

Erhardt smiled.  “The Coffee Monster Cafe on Pewter Street, about six blocks from Union Park.  He works there, although I don’t know his hours. Would the Tressa you mentioned earlier happen to be a Miss Tressa Colzione?”

Cordelia stared at him.

“Lady Primrose is a friend of Tressa’s as well, and I ran into her at the same cafe,” Erhardt clarified.  “Tressa also has a...vested interest...in my brother.”

“You...but...why would you be in that part of the city in the first place?”

“I was meeting with my brother for the first time in seven years,” Erhardt said.  “He offered that location and I saw nothing objectionable, because the likelihood of me running into my usual clients was small.  As part of my  _ job _ is to remember names--far be it for me to yell the wrong one out in a moment of passion--is it that surprising that I remembered Therion’s?”

“I suppose not,” Cordelia murmured.  “Even though I  _ know _ you are my chaperone, I sometimes find myself forgetting...”

Erhardt smiled. “I'm glad to hear that, Cordelia. How did you meet the barista-slash-coat checker?” 

Cordelia's face colored very slightly, and she said, “Well, Tressa and Noa had scheduled a get-together, and the cafe seemed as good a place as any. There is a bus stop across the street from it, so it was easy for Noa to get there. As I could use a break from...everything...I happily agreed to meet there.”

“It is conveniently placed,” Erhardt agreed. 

“I arrived early to get away from the manor, and Therion was getting off his shift. However, I didn’t know that, and thought he was merely cleaning a table off so he could sit there. I asked if he would mind if I joined him while I waited for my friends, and he agreed to stay with me.”

Cordelia's expression softened as she continued, “He  _ listened _ to me when I talked instead of planning out a reply before I could finish. It was refreshing. When Tressa and Noa arrived, he left--I barely had time to get his name. Therion.”

She sighed the young man's name and Erhardt fought down a smile. 

“I've seen him a few times since, when I can justify going to the cafe. He's so sweet.”

“He certainly seems so,” Erhardt responded. He knew Cordelia didn’t hear him, though, from the absent look on her face as she stared out at the passing scenery. 

The rest of the drive passed in amenable silence, and Erhardt helped Cordelia out of the car when they arrived at her home. 

“It was a pleasure, as always, Miss Ravus,” Erhardt said. “Will you be needing me any longer? I am yours until midnight.”

Cordelia looked at the massive, empty manor and then to Erhardt. “How much more would it cost to have you spend the entire night with me?”

“Will it be a wine and cheesy rom-com movies night or popcorn and scary films one?”

“Can we do cuddles and boring documentaries until I fall asleep? And you will stay with me until morning?”

“It would be my pleasure, Cordelia.”

Erhardt extended his hand to Cordelia who took it in her own, firm grip before ascending the stairs and into a home far too large for one young woman and her guardian. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am having far too much fun.
> 
> Also, nothing Octopath belongs to me.

Erhardt yawned and stretched as he walked. While he liked the theatre in general, all of his out-of-town clients had a tendency to want to see the same few, so it had become slightly tedious. However, those usually were the ones who merely wanted companionship. He was happy to provide them with commentary and critique during intermission, which most found delightful. Coming off as knowledgeable and cultured as well as devastatingly handsome only increased his reputation, too, so he didn't entirely mind. 

He had dropped his client off at the hotel she was staying off before returning to his midtown loft, but had promptly left once he had changed out of his formal clothes. He was ready to be  _ home. _

While he owned four residences in the city, there was really only one that was his home.  The others belonged to him but were meant for others: a midtown loft for clients; another, a quiet three-bedroom residence for the women he rescued from the clutches of pimps.  The third residence he owned was an entire floor in a complex in darkest part of town--Gaston held the keys to all the rooms and used those rooms to shelter young men and women not so different from how he and Erhardt once were.  The fourth was  _ Erhardt’s _ alone--not even the Institute knew who really lived in apartment 21 of the quaint, quiet brownstone.  All of Erhardt's official mail was delivered to his midtown property. 

Erhardt was idly braiding his hair as he meandered homeward when he caught side of a pseudo-familiar bed-head of blonde hair. The irritating lack of neatness caused him to pause long enough to noticed that Alfyn was speaking to someone--one of the city's homeless. 

_ No, a woman and her child who have escaped sex slavery,  _ Erhardt thought as he observed. He doubted Alfyn would do anything untoward--the gentleness on his face and his posture said he was merely treating them like any other person, even if he received oft disparaging looks from passers-by.  Still, Erhardt was curious that someone not closely associated with the Institute or his career would  _ care _ about someone in the family’s situation.

Alfyn’s off-shift appearance was a rumpled as his on-shift one.  He wore baggy blue jeans with a hole in one of the seams of the back pocket, which gave a small glimpse of green underwear.  He wore a short-sleeve blue/green/white plaid-patterned shirt that was unbuttoned, which revealed a white T-shirt beneath it; the seal printed on it was that of Dohter University and Medical School.  His sneakers were white-gone-grey. He had a tan messenger bag slung across his body, although the thing that intrigued Erhardt more was the medical kit he had attached to his belt and slung across one hip.  Erhardt had only routinely seen EMTs wear it--contained within were some sugar tablets, an epipen, bandages, gauze, antibiotic ointment, a packet of pain killers, and a few other emergency supplies. 

_ A medical student, perhaps?  He is too young to be a doctor,  _ Erhardt thought.   _ Intriguing. _

Alfyn’s expression was animated, and even though Erhardt was too far away to hear what he was saying, the older woman--who still looked unfortunately quite young--had the bemused smile of one who had found an initially distasteful person to be endearing, if still mildly annoying.

Alfyn seemed to laugh at something the woman said, which had him catch a glimpse of his watch.  His expression promptly turned to one of panic. He left a few apples behind before bidding her a quick farewell and bounding away.  

Erhardt wandered over as he rifled through his wallet.

“An interesting man,” he commented to the woman after dropping his cash tip from his last client in her collection hat.

“ _ Interesting _ is a way to put it, sir,” she said.  “He volunteers at the shelter run by Sealticge Hospital.”

“Unusual that they accepted a male volunteer.”

“He was vetted by Lady Primrose and truly means well, even if he still has a  _ lot _ to both learn and unlearn.”

Erhardt hummed thoughtfully.  “I imagine. It’s hard for a man to understand without having been through the same experience, although not impossible.”

Erhardt heard the younger girl gasp, as she had probably just gotten around to counting the tip Erhardt left behind.

“How do you get all this money and why are you giving it to us?” she asked.  

“Lily,” the woman reprimanded, but her eyes also went a little wide.  

“A client tipped me quite well, and you seem like you need it far more than I do.”

“Are you a whore, too?” the young girl asked.

“I prefer the term escort, but, yes.”

The girl looked deeply curious at how readily Erhardt accepted the derogatory title.

“Lily, that’s  _ rude _ ,” the older woman scolded and gave Erhardt an apologetic look.

Erhardt shrugged as he found his business card case.  “I sell my body and my time for money. The term isn’t  _ wrong _ , it’s merely crude.”  He took out his business card and placed it in the hat as well.  “If you want, Carlyle Heights apartment complex in the Warehouse district has a few rooms open, last I checked.  You’ll want to speak to  _ Gaston _ , and no one else.”

“Understood, sir,” the older woman responded.

“Thank you!” Lily added.

Erhardt smiled.  “Please contact me if you want or need my help.  Good luck.”

Erhardt turned and continued his walk back towards his home.  

_ Alfyn works as a volunteer at Sealticge’s shelter, _ Erhardt thought.   _ And is a medical student or wants to work in the medical field.  I’ll have to ask around or, perhaps, get some information out of Lady Primrose regarding him.  We’re due for tea soon as it is. I do not doubt Lady Primrose’s instincts, but I want to know more about him, just in case. _

Erhardt had finished braiding his hair by the time he reached his private apartment, and trotted up the stairs after opening the iron gate.  When he entered, the hallway smelled like chicken soup--the family in apartment 13 had young children, which meant that when one got sick, everyone in their family ended up sick as well.  

Erhardt went up the creaking stairs, took out his key, and opened his door.  While he had become used to waking up in other people’s beds, there was something about coming  _ home _ that made even the most stressful of weekends melt away.  He locked the door without looking, placed his shoes on his shoe rack, and heaved a heavy sigh.

_ Home. _

Erhardt's true home was a one-bedroom, one-bathroom affair, with wooden floors that creaked from age and wide windows that looked out on the park he had so recently walked with his brother.  Erhardt had had a friend paint one of the walls with an abstract mural; another was devoted to pictures of the places he had been, a collage of his life, the others were painted a light lilac.  He knew that many would consider his living room sparse--he certainly didn’t have much furniture in it aside from a rather impressive executive desk and chair, along with his computer and copious amount of file cabinets.  He had a small dining room table and two chairs where he occasionally took his meals. Aside from that, all the furniture was in his bedroom.

He tossed his jacket on one of the chairs and wandered into his kitchen.

“Alice, play voice mail,” he called out as he found a glass for water.

“Playing voice messages,” the electronic assistant chirped. “Playing voice message from…” 

Erhardt listened as voice mail from clients, from colleagues, from the people who made up his life and livelihood echoed in his home.  He was bombarded with requests and demands, questions and answers, voice after voice, message after message. If he didn’t love his job as much as he did, it would drive him insane.  Being in demand was wonderful, but there were also times he wanted to direct all messages to a recording of him saying “Fuck you” before hanging up. 

He was about to start his winding-down routine when a voice brought him up short.

“Erhardt, this is Olberic.  I apologize for how rude I was at the cafe.  You’re...looking well. I’ve considered your marketing offer and Cyrus and I agree that it would be good to have a consultation, if you’re ever available.  Please call me if you ever get the chance.” 

Olberic rattled off a phone number before Alice startled Erhardt by intoning:“End of messages.”

_ It can't be that easy,  _ Erhardt thought, staring at the small, innocuous machine.  _ There's simply no way.  _

Incredulity bred from experience gripped Erhardt, who shook his head.  “Time for emails. After that...”

Hearing Olberic’s voice gave Erhardt pause, however.  He had tried to purge everything that was Olberic from his life after his plan succeeded, but he still occasionally found trinkets the man had given him, or, when looking over his collage wall, he’d spot a picture with Olberic in it.  Coming across such things over the years had made him feel both sad and like a complete shithead. 

“What would it have been like, if I hadn’t pushed you away?” Erhardt wondered aloud as he walked past his electronic assistant and to his computer.  “What would we have done? What would we have been, if anything at all?”

Erhardt woke up his computer and sat down in front of it, sighing.  

“Just go through one hundred emails, and then you can take a bath,” Erhardt murmured to himself.  

The next hour was spent vacillating between filing and responding to emails and pulling himself back from wallowing in ‘what if’s.  Such things ended in nothing but pain. Better to focus on the moment, deal with the current problems and day-to-day reality than to think of what might have been. 

Erhardt’s cell phone rang and he groaned. 

“It is technically still business hours,” he grumbled and turned his phone over so he could see the caller. 

Through some less-than-legal means, Erhardt had managed to acquire a modification that let him see the names of whomever was calling regardless of whether or not the number was officially listed. The name ‘Cyrus Albright’ displayed on the screen and Erhardt paused.

_ Olberic and Leon both mentioned a Cyrus… _ Erhardt thought.

He answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Erhardt Bastralle?”

“Speaking, yes.”

“Wonderful! My name is Cyrus Albright, and I'm the co-owner of the Coffee Monster. Olberic said that he left you a message, but after hearing of your history with him, I felt I should call as well, as we truly do wish to employ your marketing services, and I wasn't sure you would respond to his message.”

Erhardt leaned back in his chair, a small smile flickering across his face.  If Cyrus was able to pry his and Olberic’s history out of Olberic  _ and  _ find it in himself to try be the bridge between their past and present, he was a force of personality to be reckoned with. “Well, Mr. Albright. I'd be happy to offer them to you if you agree to my price.”

“Yes, about that…” Cyrus sighed. “I did some research, and I'm not sure that we can afford your asking rate to employ you in all the capacities that you listed as available on your website. Our coffee shop simply isn't that profitable, although it is becoming more so every day.  We’re in the black now! Anyway, might I negotiate something with you? If not, I understand. Your time is important and i can tell that you charge what you are worth.”

Erhardt found himself struggling not to smile.  “For my usual services, my prices are non-negotiable. However, as I am trying to expand my marketing agency, I'm sure we can arrange something that will benefit us both.”

“Wonderful!” Cyrus responded. “I might not have the bartering acumen of Miss Colzione, but I will do my best.”

Erhardt barely kept himself from laughing. 

“Very well, Mr. Albright. What exactly do you see yourself needing?”

“Well, to be honest, I am not entirely sure.  I know for certain that the end goal is to move to a larger location; my collection of books is getting no smaller, and a larger cafe means more people can spend time--and money--there.”

“Cafes and bookstores aren’t exactly the hottest of commodities.”

“Perhaps not, but there has been a movement towards the preservation and appreciation of used and indie bookstores.  I’ve seen articles online discussing the resurgence of such, so perhaps catching that wave would be beneficial?”

“We can discuss strategy later, Mr. Albright.  For now, tell me how you see me helping you and we can determine price that way.  I won’t give you a consultation for free.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry.  I get carried away sometimes.  Well, as of right now, we get business primarily through word-of-mouth.  Olberic has insisted that we get a website running, but we have had some spirited debates on what it should look like, where it should be hosted, etc., and have never come to a happy compromise.  Perhaps we could have a professional opinion on the appearance of such?”

“So, the development of an online presence is one thing you would be looking for?”

“Well, when you put it that way, yes.”

“How’s your social media?”

“Er, well…”

“Not exactly extensive, it seems.”

“No, not quite.  Olberic tries, but while he is regular with his posts, they are less than...inspired.”

“So, you’re looking for an online and social media presence primarily?”

“It is a place to start.”

“So it is.  It’s the new ‘word of mouth’, as it were.”

“Quite right.  So, while  _ your _ website lists website design and hosting at a fairly low rate, social media is quite a bit more.”

“It is more labor intensive, Mr. Albright.”

“Cyrus, please.  I don’t think I’ve ever been called Mr. Albright.”

“Oh?  Then how have people referred to you?”

“Professor Albright, primarily. I used to teach at the Royal University in Atlasdam.”

“I see.  It seems like you may have an interesting story to tell--perhaps we might be able to capitalize on that.”

“I’m not sure you’d  _ want _ to, but it is a possibility, I suppose.  Now, if we request your assistance and guidance on only  _ one _ platform, can we bring the price down?”

“It depends on which platform.”

Fifteen minutes later, Erhardt hung up and smiled wryly at his cell phone. 

“What a fascinating man,” Erhardt mused and shook his head. “How the hell do he and Olberic get along at all? They seem like they'd be too different to work well together.”

Erhardt pulled up Leon's contact information and sent him a quick text:

-i like Cyrus

Erhardt plugged his phone into the charger before he meandered towards his bathroom.  He started the water for his bath and sighed as he stripped. 

Even though his bathroom was technically larger and nicer in his loft, it also had to be  _ shared _ with other people.  So, even if the tub was a little cramped, even if the hot water was occasionally iffy, the one in the brownstone was  _ his _ and it felt glorious to just sink into the hot water, even if he did have to scrunch himself a little.

“Nothing until tomorrow,” he murmured to the misty, lightly scented air.  “Nothing. Until. Tomorrow.”

Weekends were rough.

_ But, isn’t it funny? _ He thought as he languished in the tub.   _ I’ll be more-or-less working for Olberic.  True, it seems like Cyrus is the one who makes the big-picture calls, but Olberic...he’ll be involved. What will that be like? _

Olberic really  _ had _ looked good, if not a little more handsome than when they were younger. 

_ Where else does he have scars?  _ Erhardt wondered as he ran damp fingers through his hair.  _ And how did he get them? Would he tell me the stories? _

Erhardt was a cross between annoyed and amused when he felt the stirrings of arousal. 

“Really?” he said aloud. “Just because you find scars sexy, have a thing for silver foxes, and damn did he look good in that shirt…” 

Erhardt snorted as said arousal only grew more insistent. “I spent the last eight-ish years trying to forget him, and the moment i see him again, the first thing I can think of is jumping him. One of the things I  _ told _ him was that I only used him for practice, for his body. As if he'd ever let me touch him again if he believes that.”

_ But, what if? _ his desire insisted.

“What if he let me touch him? What if  _ he _ touched me like that?” Erhardt mused, giving up. 

He slumped down a little further in his tub and closed his eyes.

He still could remember how dark Olberic's eyes would get, at the heat and desire within them. 

It wasn’t difficult to recall the feeling of Olberic's hands on his body. Large, rough palms sliding against sweat-slick skin. Olberic's form all strong, hard lines as he pressed against Erhardt even as his touches and kisses were feather-light and gentle. 

Erhardt hummed as his hand found it's way between his legs and he began to leisurely pump himself.

Ehrhardt would let his fingers search out every scar, delight in the difference in texture between normal skin and the unknown memories carved on Olberic's body. He would tangle his fingers in Olberic's hair, and kiss him like he couldn’t breathe without Olberic's help. He'd trace ever muscle, every curve and dip with his lips and tongue, and Olberic would happily groan, the sound low and lustful. 

Erhardt would relearn every plane of Olberic's body until the man grew too aroused and frustrated to stand it, and Erhardt would surrender to Olberic and the  _ need _ and would relish it all. 

_ To feel him inside me again, or to be inside him… _

The only person who gave Erhardt better orgasms than himself had been Olberic. 

Erhardt lay listlessly in the tub for a long moment, memory and yearning and more than a little bit of frustration flowing through him.

“Great, got that out of my system,” Erhardt murmured and stood. He flipped the switch to let the bathwater drain. “He is a  _ marketing  _ client and that is how you're going to treat him. Mind firmly out of pants.”

Once the water had drained enough, Erhardt pulled the shower curtain and took a brisk shower, the temperature contrast actually feeling quite nice. 

Once he was dry and in a pair of sweatpants, he wandered back over to his phone and picked it up to order takeout from his favorite salad/sandwich shop, since he had nothing in his apartment.   Erhardt opened the food delivery app and quick re-ordered his usual. He knew that it was better for him to make his own food, but he was never sure how well something would keep and frozen food was worse than delivery.  

_ I could always employ someone to cook for me, _ Erhardt mused.   _ But I’m not letting anyone else in here unless I must. _

Once he was done that, he found that a text message from Leon was waiting.

-hes a good guy, right?

Erhardt smiled. 

-i have a consult with him and olberic in a few days. I found two hours in mid afternoon.  I’m meeting them at the cafe 

-that’s great!

-i’m not avoiding you, you know. I want to spend the entire day with you and not jsut two hours

-i get it

-how’re you doing?

-pretty good

-Tressa manage to talk you into her bed yet?

-Dont *you* fucking start

Erhardt snickered.  

-all work and no play makes for a horny and pining Leon

-SHUT.  UP.

Erhardt sat down in his office chair and propped his feet up on his desk.

-Cordelia Ravus speaks quite highly of Tressa. They're apparently friends.

-yes, I know. I didnt know you knew Cordelia tho

-she’s a client

-what kind of client?

-don’t be so supsicious.  We broached the topic of me teaching her the finer points of pleasure but that ended up devolving into giggles and innuendo and we decided we made much better friends

-I shouldn’t be as relieved as I feel

-she’s a lovely young woman.  I’m curious. How’d your ‘chat’ with Olberic go?

-about as well as I thought it would

-good or bad?

-pretty bad. Our friendship is sorta on the rocks

-ouch.  I’m sorry

-don’t be.   _ He’s _ the one who lied to me

-and i also told you nothing about Olberic when we were dating

-you don’t have to defend him you know

-i know, i know

-have any interesting clients lately?

-same old same old.  Hey, how well do you know Alfyn?

-Alfyn? 

-one of the baristas at the Coffee Monster

-not that well.  He’s a nice enough guy although his mouth occasionally moves faster than his brain.  why?

-Apparently he volunteers at the Sealticge shelter

-really?

-And Lady Primrose was the one who cleared him. 

-huh

-you got anything?

-no, sorry.  we don’t interact a lot

-too busy being seduced by a particular baker’s daughter?

-oh my fucking *gods* Erhardt I’m going to kill you

-and deprive the world of my beauty?

-SIGH

Erhardt smiled at his phone.

-you’re off shift? Leon asked.

-for a while.  Waiting on dinner and then I’m going to do a little paperwork before passing out

-sounds like a plan.  Don’t run yourself ragged, okay?  Promise me you’ll take long enough breaks

-Tomorrow’s Monday.  Mondays are always light.

-I can’t believe you can legit say that you look forward to Mondays

-someone has to

-Whatever.  Look, don’t spend too long doing work, okay?  You need your beauty sleep.

Erhardt laughed.  

-you too, Leon.  Although perhaps you don’t get a lot of restful sleep anymore? ;)

  
-you’re a dead man

-and i’m sure you wish you’ve been dying the little death these past months

-ERHARDT

-I love you <3

-one day I hope you suffer as much as I am right now.

-you can only wish.  Well, have a good evening, Leon.  My phone is always on, so if you need to talk or anything, just call

-Right, sure.  Good night, Erhardt.

Erhardt put his phone back on his desk and stretched.

“Okay, time for the not-fun part of my job,” Erhardt murmured to himself and woke up his computer.

Erhardt spent the time waiting for his food to arrive balancing his books and checking to make sure the second half of his payment was made from his most recent clients.  There was a slightly prying note from Heathcote as to why Erhardt spent the night with Cordelia along with the payment, to which Erhardt responded, ‘She needed me.’ 

“Let him take that as he will,” Erhardt murmured and turned his attention back to the less pleasurable part of his job.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...did not think I would complete a NaNoWriMo sized piece in roughly two weeks and still have more to write. At least through July, updates will be weekly on Thursdays.   
> Also, as always, I own nothing related to Ocotpath.

Erhardt’s bi-weekly Tea with Primrose and Arianna was an affair that he had a tendency to look forward to in spite of himself.  Having someone to talk shop with who didn’t care about--actually, actively disparaged--his reputation was refreshing. He thought Primrose was a bitch and she considered him an douchebag, but they always made time to see each other.

Arianna was a quiet, grounding influence on Primrose, so whenever Erhardt managed to hit the right buttons to piss Primrose off, Arianna reined her in while giving Erhardt a Very Disapproving look.  Of course, he had no such person to do so for him when Primrose ticked him off, but it was a small price to pay for Primrose’s anger when he managed to angle his words just right.

Erhardt was both surprised and pleased to see that another woman had joined their Tea, although he wasn’t sure why _Tressa_ would be joining them.  

_No matter,_  he decided as he hung his coat up beside Tressa’s, which smelled of baked goods.   _It will be good to get to know her.  Perhaps I can help her make my brother’s life miserable._

“Fashionably late, as always, Sir Erhardt,” Primrose drawled.  

“Fashionably on time, you mean,” Erhardt replied.  “I am the one who decides when I come, not you.”

Primrose snorted as Tressa snickered.

Primrose was dressed casually with a cold-shoulder, red, gold-embroidered shirt and blue, skin-tight skinny jeans, although her statement jewelry more than made up for the sedate nature of her clothing.

Tressa was wearing brown capris with ties at the cuffs and flower-like embroidery on the waistband, along with a green button-down shirt with the two top buttons undone, which revealed a nautical-themed necklace.  Arianna wore a white peasant-blouse and a navy blue skirt that fell to her ankles, and completed her look with a silver bracelet and sapphire earrings.

Their table was positioned so it overlooked the city, the widows wide open and white, gauzy curtains billowing every now and then as a gust of air came through.  As high up as they were, the noise pollution was minimal, and they were provided with a breathtaking view of the city. The floors were a light cream-colored carpet and the walls were painted an inoffensive pale blue.  Paintings of past members of the Azelhart family hung on the walls and comfortable furniture was scattered throughout the room.

Their table held a small tiered tray of tea cakes and assorted other small, delicate pastries, as well as three different teapots--one for black tea, one for green tea, and one for white.  A container of various sweeteners was placed in the center of the table, along with a carafe of cream, and the tablecloth was a light gold color. Everything was yet untouched--primarily through Arianna’s influence, since _she_ thought it rude that they start without Erhardt.  

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Colzione?” Erhardt asked as he took a seat at their table.

“You don’t have to be so formal,” Tressa said, frowning slightly.  “Tressa’s fine.”

“Tressa it is, then.  My question still stands.  I know you are Lady Primrose’s friend, but why include me if you are relaxing together?  My presence isn’t particularly _relaxing_ for her.”

“Well, we all do different kinds of sex work, so Prim figured that it would be fun and/or funny for us to swap stories,” Tressa said.  “Since things can get _weird_ sometimes.”

Erhardt kept intrigue off his face, instead smiling and saying, “I look forward to it.  I’m always up for a new perspective, since I get so entrenched in my own. Do you drink tea, Tressa?”

“Not all that often--I like coffee better, but black tea is nice from time to time.”

Erhardt hummed absently.  “Is it Ceylon today, Lady Primrose?” Erhardt asked as he poured himself a cup.

“Yes.  The green tea is from Amihsogak prefecture and, although I don’t know where the white tea is imported from. I don’t have any coffee for Tressa quite yet, but I'll make sure there is some next time.”

“Are the sweets from your bakery, Tressa?” Erhardt asked as he picked one off the tray.

“They are!” Tressa chirped. “I hope you enjoy them.”

“I am certain that I will,” Erhardt agreed. “I have set up an account with your parents, so will be using your particular confections with my clients.”

“Aw, really?” Tressa replied, smiling. “I mean, I know our stuff is good, but having you as a customer is super flattering!”

“You're not just trying to buy your way into her good graces?” Primrose drawled. “Since your personality oft leaves something to be desired.”

“Which is why I still profit off my body as well as my scintillating conversation and company.”

“While I do hate to be the downer in the group, something important has come to my attention that I need Tressa and your's help with,” Arianna said after taking a delicate sip of white tea and a nibble of a mini-scone.

Erhardt shifted his attention to her as Tressa frowned and said, “What's up?”

“Someone has been ‘rescuing’ women from Stillsnow and bringing them here with promises of a better life. However, while they are being allowed to charge more, they see equally little of the fruit of their labors here as at Stillsnow.”

“That's awful,” Tressa replied.

“Do you have any leads?” Erhardt asked.

Arianna nodded. “I have a given name. We had to pry the information out of a few dying men, but the man we’re looking for is named Darius.”

“Is he based here in Noblecourt or just the...recruiter, and thus in Stillsnow?”

“He works through innumerable cat's paws, so we're not sure,” Primrose said. “Darius may not even be his true name, but it is the one that the women we've saved and the pimps we've...removed from business...have both mentioned.”

Erhardt nodded slightly and slowly turned his cup in a half circle before taking another sip. “Gaston works the warehouse district for me. I'll tell him to pay attention to whether or not someone mentions that name, even if only in passing.”

“We all talk when the phone lines aren't busy, and sometimes we get a ‘wrong number’ that lets us alert the police to abuse or other bad situations,” Tressa said. “I'll tell the others to keep an ear out for that name.”

“Thank you, both of you.”

“How is Simeon faring these days?” Erhardt asked Primrose after a surprisingly comfortable silence.

Primrose's lip curled in a snarl as Arianna sighed heavily.

“He's so _entrenched_ that it is proving nearly impossible to pry Everhold out of his grasp,” Primrose growled.  “But, I will, and he will _regret_ having ever crossed the Azelharts.”

“ _Fides est scutum meum_ ,” Erhardt murmured, and Primrose gave him a tight smile.  

“At least Yusufa has had luck with Helgenish in Sunshade,” Arianna commented. “Sunshade should be free from him and his brand of scum within the next few months--weeks, if we’re lucky. We have tried to offer our business model and services to Marsalim as an alternative, but they are...resistant.”

“The king is being a pain in the ass and worried about propriety and modesty,” Primrose translated.

“I think they’re more concerned about that drug--Red-Eye?--than the lives and livelihoods of their women,” Arianna added.

“Okay, cool, but what can _I_ do _here_ to help people?  There has to be something more than just listening and waiting and being _re_ active instead of _pro_ active!” Tressa said.   

“You could always go undercover,” Primrose said.  “But you’d never be convincing.”

“I can act pretty well, you know.”

“It takes a lot of training--and personal experience--to get the deadness right,” Arianna said softly.  “You’ve known family and love and warmth even through your losses, and your courage is not and will never be a facade.  Men like Darius can see that, and they won’t trust you enough to let you hear anything remotely useful--they might even feed you wrong information.”

Tressa huffed, crossed her arms under her chest and scowled at the table.  “Then, what _can_ I do?”

“Call-girls and cam-girls have their own network,” Erhardt pointed out.  “You’re familiar with the ones with whom you work with most closely, but people know people.  Expand your circle, and you may find some hints, or someone will have heard something. You’re a gregarious individual, Tressa.  I’m sure you can charm your way into finding out who is working with him or for him and who is actively trying to subvert him. And if you don’t hear of Darius, you’ll hear of someone else we can bring the metaphorical hammer down on.”

“Yeah,” Tressa agreed.  It wasn’t hard to see that she was going through a mental list of people she knew and who she could ask questions without them getting suspicious or defensive.  

Erhardt smiled very faintly before pouring himself another cup of black tea.  He liked it when his guesses were correct.

“I’m assuming you haven’t asked how you can help because you know you’re as useful as slime mold?” Primrose drawled.

“I don’t hear _you_ offering your assistance either, Lady Primrose,” Erhardt responded.  “Afraid you’ll break a nail if you get your hands dirty?”

“Are they always like this?” Tressa asked Arianna in a stage whisper.

Arianna nodded glumly.  “They’re actually being better behaved than normal.”

Erhardt gave Arianna a cheerful smile before he turned his attention to Tressa.

“I spoke with my brother recently, and was saddened to hear that the stubborn asshole has yet to taste _your_ sweetness.”

Tressa coughed on her tea before she laughed. “Gods know I've _tried_.”

“And _I've_ helped her,” Primrose said. “Nothing seems to work, or, if it looks like it's going to, he balks before she can get anywhere substantial.”

“He takes issue with your age gap,” Erhardt said.

“Which is _dumb._ ”

“I agree with you entirely,” Erhardt said.

“You do?”

Erhardt nodded and took a sip of the tea, savoring the flavor. “Although he has plenty of reasons for being skittish,” Erhardt continued.

“I know about Baltazar.”

Erhardt's eyebrows rose slightly. “You do.”

Tressa nodded, her expression both serious and sad. “He...always is in a bad way on the anniversary of Baltazar's death. I comforted him one time--just held his hand is all, listened when he spoke, didn't ask anything of him. I don't think he was used to the kindness.”

Hearing Tressa say that left Erhardt both relieved and shoving down remorse and shame.

_I should have been there for him, but I wasn't,_ he thought.   _I’ll make it up to him.  I’ll be the brother he_ deserves.

“Well, thank you for being there for him.  I appreciate it.”

After a momentary pause, Tressa continued: “Hey, so…”

“Yes?”

“You’re his brother.”

“I am.”

“So, you know him pretty well.”

“I’d hope so, although the last few years have been a little strained.”

“Please, I’ll take whatever help you can give me--advice, suggestions, anything at all.  I want to strangle his cock with my vagina _so fucking bad_ it’s killing me.”

Arianna coughed a laugh as Primrose cackled.  

_How pleasantly crude,_ Erhardt thought as he finished his tea and put the cup down.  

“Yes, I will help you.”

“You will?!”

Erhardt smiled.  “Absolutely. With Lady Primrose and I working with you, I’m sure we’ll eventually wear him down.  He really is attracted to you, you know.”

“I _do_ know!  Which is what makes it worse!  Because he clearly likes me back but won’t _do anything_!”

Erhardt chuckled slightly. “Well, I have been teasing him about you lately, so perhaps that hasn’t been helping.”  Erhardt paused. “Joshua Frostblade has retired, hasn’t he, Arianna?”

“Yes,” she responded.  “...Why?”

“My brother can be a jealous little shit,” Erhardt commented.  “How about I introduce you to Joshua, Tressa? He’s older than Leon, blonde, and attractive.  Having you, ah, ‘dating’ someone might be an incentive for Leon to re-examine his dedication to giving you blue pussy.”

Arianna flushed a little at that as Primrose snickered.

“You sure he won’t mind?” Tressa asked.

“I don’t think so, but I’ll ask.  I think he may have a lover and am not sure how that person will take it; nonetheless, it is worth an attempt.”

“Really, Erhardt, anything you can do, I’d appreciate.  I _want_ Leon, but I also want _him_ , y’know?  Please, I’m getting desperate.”

“I think you’re already there, Tressa.”

Primrose smirked and said, “She is _far_ past desperate.”

“Hey!  Truly desperate would be cornering him in the bakery’s bathroom and doing a strip tease before leaving him hanging,” Tressa protested.

Erhardt couldn’t fight down a smile.  “That’s awfully specific, Tressa.”

“Well…”

“Why don’t we swap stories to at least temporarily get your mind off of what is in my brother’s pants?  I haven’t had any particularly exciting clients of late, but I do have quite a few stories from my early years that bear telling.”

“All of which I’ve heard before,” Primrose drawled.

“Did I tell you about the time I was hired by both the bride and groom respectively for consecutive nights?  They each wanted to surprise the other with a threesome, and since the groom was hetero-flexible and the bride was adventurous, they doubted either would have a problem with my presence, and they’d be getting their future spouse one of the best.”

“That’s actually one I don’t think I’ve heard,” Primrose said.  “Go on.”

By the time Erhardt was done his tale, Tressa was red-faced from both embarrassment and laughter, Arianna looked politely amused--even if her eyes sparkled with contained laughter--and Primrose had a rather salacious grin.  

“You’re an awful liar,” she said.

“Which is why I try to tell the truth,” Erhardt replied. “I’m a hedonist, not a spy.  Tell us one of your most recent adventures, Lady Primrose.”

“I actually took a trip to Hornburg in the past few months,” Primrose said as she sipped her cooled chocolate.

“Oh?” Erhardt asked.

“They’re slowly getting back onto their feet.  The civil war and subsequent renovation into a more democratic model of government has left them riddled with weaknesses.”

“In that case, I’m sure you have a good story of some poor sod who you seduced into spilling state secrets,” Erhardt commented.  “Care to share?”

If Erhardt told stories of humor and embarrassment, Primrose’s were full of intrigue and suspense.  

Tressa was a fantastic audience, reacting in all the right places and pestering Primrose for more detail of her daring deeds.  Arianna often look worried and her hand rested on Primrose’s thigh, probably a way to reassure herself that Primrose was still alive, safe, and with her.  Erhardt, however, knew that Primrose was only telling half the tale, and that her adventure was fraught with a deeper, more sinister danger than what she recounted.

Simeon was always watching, always waiting for Primrose to slip up.  He and his Crows had a long-standing hit on Primrose, so along with the ‘normal’ danger that came from being a dancer--which was Institute code for assassin--she had to always watch over her shoulder for the shadow of a Crow.  She often came to Erhardt after a close call, because he would hold her and listen as she shook from the adrenaline and terror that accompanied her constant dance with Death. It would catch up to her or Simeon eventually--and both Erhardt and Primrose fully intended Simeon to be the one burnt and scattered, not her.

“Oh my gods, Prim, I’m so glad you’re okay!” Tressa cried once Primrose concluded her tale.  “How can you do that? Aren’t you scared? Holy shit, you’re so strong and brave and pretty and I’m so happy you’re okay and here and--”

“Tressa,” Primrose said and reached out to pull her into a light hug.  “I’m okay, really. I’ve been doing this job since I was 20 and I love it.  I...it lets me protect my family, my people, from those who would hurt them.”

“Still,” Tressa said and dragged the slighter woman into a tight hug.  

Arianna actually looked...relieved...at Tressa’s affection.  They both knew it was hard for Primrose to make friends--her personality could occasionally be as prickly as the flower she was named after--so Erhardt understood how Arianna seeing Primrose be physically affectionate with someone would be comforting.  After a moment’s hesitation, Arianna stood, moved over to the pair, and gently wrapped her arms around both of the other women. Erhardt was heartened by the small smile that graced Primrose’s face--she had her soft moments, and, while Erhardt didn’t actively _encourage_ them due to her lifestyle, he was pleased whenever she let down her guard enough for that to happen.

Erhardt looked away and out the window as the three women had a quiet conversation.  He wasn’t meant to be a part of it and, honestly, didn’t want to be. None of them needed _his_ sharp edges intruding.  

It was a very rare moment that Erhardt felt lonely.  There were plenty of male graduates from the Institute--it was simply exceedingly rare for them to choose the escort specialization.  Many took on the role of “courtesans”--or, diplomats, which was Arianna’s area of expertise. Others became “dancers,”--assassins--such as Primrose.  They groomed “actors” as spies, and served as a training-ground for social workers, health care professionals, and public educators. Many Institute graduates went into the military or government, since the skills taught easily carried over across disciplines.  

The Institute was most well known for escorts like Erhardt, but they were the exception, not the rule.  They simply had the greatest visibility.

“Leaf for your thoughts, Sir Erhardt.”

Erhardt looked back to Arianna and gave her a smile.  “It’s nice to see you all get along. Not that I doubted for a second that Tressa would fit in.”

_I just wonder if I do anymore,_ a wounded and insecure part of Erhardt whispered.

“Tell us a story, Tressa,” Erhardt said and looked to the green-eyed young woman.  “Surely you must have had some memorable calls. How about you tell us about your first day on the job?”

Tressa laughed at that, her cheeks coloring slightly.  “Oh, gods, really? I can’t tell something else?”

“Oh, no, you never did tell me how you got started,” Primrose said, giving Tressa a small smirk.  “I’d love to hear it.”

“Well, you see...I basically wanted more money so I didn’t have to go into debt for college,” Tressa said, a sheepish smile crossing her face.  “I’m allergic to debt. It’s one of my greatest fears. And it seemed like a good enough idea at the time, so...yeah. That’s really it.”

“That isn’t a story,” Arianna pointed out.  “That is merely your reasoning for choosing to work that job.”

“Oh, do I _have_ to?” Tressa asked, her blush darkening.

“Because I know my brother’s luck, tell me what happened when he called in and ended up with _you_ on the other end,” Erhardt said.

Tressa burst out laughing as her face flushed even darker, which made Erhardt chuckle.

“You are _required_ to tell that story, Tress,” Primrose said, her small smile wicked.  

“Really?  Well, I mean, I guess...it’s sort of funny but also embarrassing?”

“We shall be the judges of that,” Arianna said smoothly.  “Please start your tale.”

Tressa’s narrative started in half-formed sentences and awkward pauses, but Arianna’s deft and subtle manipulation quickly had Tressa oversharing.

_Leon is going to kill me when I tease him about this,_ Erhardt thought.   _And I will enjoy every second._

Tressa’s story concluded in laughter and she smiled easier for it.  

“You’re quite good at what you do,” Erhardt observed.  “That it took you as long as it did to slip up when you recognized his voice is impressive.”

“Thank you,” Tressa replied with a grin.

The tea had long gone cold, but Erhardt didn’t mind, even if Arianna did, and poured himself a cup of the green tea.  Her not partaking simply meant more tea for him.

“I don’t have anything that can quite top that, but I will happily tell you the story of the diplomat and the duck,” Arianna commented.

Arianna was an expert storyteller, and Erhardt thoroughly enjoyed her rendition of an event he recalled quite differently.  Then again, their jobs and perspectives had been wildly dissimilar, so such made sense.

By the time Arianna finished her story, the afternoon had passed into evening and a dinner date was creeping up on Erhardt.  

“While it has been lovely spending time in such company, I do have somewhere to be,” Erhardt said as he stood.  “I’ll see you again in two weeks?”

“So you shall,” Arianna said as Primrose nodded.

“I should leave, too,” Tressa said and stood.  “I didn’t think I’d be here the entire afternoon!”

“Good company--or, at least, engaging company--passes the time quickly,” Erhardt replied.

He took down his coat and offered Tressa’s hers, stubbornly helping her into it, which earned him a flash of a smile.

“Fare well, Lady Primrose,” Erhardt called out.

“I’ll try to get Oolong tea for next time,” she responded.

Erhardt gently ushered Tressa out the door and into the hallway where he pressed the down button for the elevator.

Tressa looked furtively around, then locked eyes with Erhardt and said, “Why do you call each other Lady and Sir?  I know that they’re your actual titles, but you two are friends, aren’t you?”

“It is habit,” Erhardt responded with a shrug.

Tressa hummed, clearly not believing him, but the elevator arrived before she could continue her line of inquiry.

Erhardt stepped inside the elevator after the doors opened.

_“You have brought yourself up from nothing and I have brought myself low from a place of prestige for the sake of our individual ambitions, and it has been worth all the sacrifice.”_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm liking this weekly update thing. I hope I can keep it up.  
> Also, nothing Octopath belongs to me.

Erhardt arrived at Cyrus’ book store about five minutes early, and the scent of coffee that drifted through the conjoining door was actually  _ soothing _ .  The two buildings had clearly once been separate row-homes, but someone had knocked down the wall enough for a doorway to be formed that linked them.  There was no actual door, which allowed easy transit between the two, although the slight height difference between the two buildings required a large piece of caution tape be glued to the different levels to make sure people noticed.

Erhardt took a quick peek into the cafe to find that Therion, Ophilia, and a young woman who looked like she could be Ophilia's sister were working the counter, while Tressa, Noa, and Cordelia were chatting at a table in the corner.  Therion was clearly distracted, even though his hands were steady, and Ophilia wore a smile of exasperated affection whenever he wasn’t looking at her or when she was obviously training the new girl.

The bookstore itself was much as Erhardt remembered it, orderly rows and columns with signs clearly labeling areas by topic, even if the books weren't in alphabetical order.  Carts laden with the older and more worn books were at the front of the store, marked down to one or two leaf per book. The floor was a chestnut-brown, scuffed, warm wood with black mats in front of the doorways.  The walls were wallpapered with some truly hideous paisley, but that was mostly hidden behind posters of covers from famous books, plays, and movies, along with local, for-sale art pieces. A step stool was hidden beneath a round table that sat in the middle of the store displaying more colorful or well known titles. Music was coming from  _ somewhere _ , and there was a slightly cleaning-fluid scent underlying the coffee. 

_ Then again, I see no dust anywhere, so this place is probably kept meticulously neat to avoid damaging what may be already damaged books. _

Erhardt was amused to find Odette behind the cashier register. The woman gave him a cheerful wink before turning her attention to a older, scruffy-looking man that Erhardt distantly recalled as employed by the Institute as security detail for trainees on their training “jobs.” A large Wolfhound was curled up at his feet, which Erhardt eyed warily. Dogs liked him far better than cats, but an experience when he was younger had taught him to be cautious. 

The way Odette and the man--Z'aanta--were flirting was cringe-inducing, which was clearly the point.

“Ah, Mr. Bastralle, there you are.”

Erhardt turned towards Cyrus’ voice and smiled.

Cyrus dressed as any fashion-conscious as any professional escort Erhardt had ever met.  All of his clothing was obviously tailored: a black suit jacket, a deep-brown vest with custom gold embroidery, a pristine white shirt with what Erhardt was pretty sure were sapphire cufflinks, a navy blue tie, black, business slacks, and polished, black patent-leather shoes.  The man was pale in the way that said he spent most of his time indoors, and his mahogany-colored hair was messy in a very specific way and pulled back into a ponytail. His eyes were brown, and the smile he treated Erhardt to was easy and genuine. His cologne was understated and pleasantly musky.

“Professor Albright, a pleasure,” Erhardt said and extended his hand.  Cyrus’ grip was a little weak, but there didn’t seem to be much muscle to him in the first place, so Erhardt was less than surprised.  “Who is your tailor?”

Cyrus blinked, then smiled again.  “A lovely older man named  Gendy.”

“Oh, you patronize him, too?”

Cyrus laughed, seemingly delighted.  “Now I know why he keeps on giving me looks when I ask him for very specific commissions!  If you use him as your tailor, that likely means other escorts do as well.”

“You’re certainly handsome enough to do the job.”

“High praise coming from you, Sir Erhardt,” Cyrus responded.  “Come along, I know your time is very precious.”

Erhardt wasn’t sure if the man was flirting with him or not, given the change in address, but decided it didn’t matter.  A client was a client, and as long as he could flirt back without ruffling any feathers, Erhardt didn’t care. Erhardt followed Cyrus up a flight of narrow, uneven stairs to the second floor of the bookshop, hung a right and walked down a short corridor; Cyrus then pressed a hidden switch and a secret door opened to reveal an office.

“Your office is in a secret room,” Erhardt said to Cyrus as he stepped inside and the other man closed the door.

“Of course!” Cyrus chirped.  “Wouldn’t you have your office in a secret room if you could?”

“I have two offices and neither of them are in secret rooms,” Erhardt replied, amused.

“Clearly you need to read more murder mysteries,” Cyrus said as he took a seat behind his desk.  “I can recommend a few, if you would like.”

“I don’t often have time for leisure reading,” Erhardt responded. “Although I appreciate the offer.” 

“Please, sit, you're making me nervous by standing.”

Erhardt did so and was surprised at how  _ comfortable _ the chair was. Then again, everything in the room told Erhardt that Cyrus was the one responsible for the cafe's decor decisions. A turntable was warbling a soft piece of classical music--Erhardt very distantly recognized it, as he had been to more than his fair share of concerts--although the turntable’s cover was hidden under a small stack of magazines. Floor to ceiling bookshelves and cabinets lined the wall behind Cyrus, and to his right was a window overlooking Pewter street. A to-do list in the same meticulous cursive as the tea list in the cafe was hanging on the left wall, lines through things that had obviously been accomplished. A rug that had seen better days was beneath their feet, most likely to keep the chairs from scraping against the hardwood and disturbing the people below. Magnets from various locales, both exotic and not, as well as those from popular culture and probably inside jokes were stuck to the metal file cabinets. One shelf of a bookshelf was dedicated to pictures; some were tongue-in cheek de-motivational quotes, and there was one with Cyrus holding a diploma and in a doctoral cap and gown, looking exceedingly smug.  However, not a single picture had Olberic in it.

“Will Olberic be joining us?”

“Eventually,” Cyrus said.  “He’s running a little behind.  But, time is passing and I’d prefer to have a website put together that he can’t argue with me about.”

Erhardt smiled slightly.  “Well, the first place we have to start is what you envision this cafe being.  I remember you saying that you wanted to eventually move to a larger location?”

“Yes, that would be lovely,” Cyrus responded.  “For the cafe, I really would like to host open mic nights, or provide a place where study groups could gather and not have to pull all the tables off of one wall and scrunch them together to have enough room.  For my bookstore, I’d like just like more room and to be able to store everything more on-site rather than having to ask Leon to go fetch me some new books from my public storage container.”

“Just how many books do you have, Professor?”

Cyrus’ cheeks flushed a little, and embarrassment looked  _ good _ on him.

_ This man has broken many hearts without meaning to, _ Erhardt distantly thought as Cyrus murmured, “I have...quite an extensive library of my own.  I started the bookstore to try to get rid of some of my collection.”

“How many of the books in this store technically belong to you?”

“...most of them?  I accept books from others, although I don’t pay much. I donate as many books as I can to shelters, libraries, and schools, but it barely makes a dent.”

“You know, mentioning that may help you,” Erhardt commented.  “The donations, I mean. People are soft for charity and good-will.”

Erhardt took his tablet-laptop out of his bag, cleared some space on Cyrus’ desk and placed it down.  “Shall we get to work, Professor?”

“Yes, let’s!”

They were discussing the position of a drop-down menu when Erhardt heard a click and the door to the office opened.  Cyrus looked up and Erhardt turned in his seat to see Olberic step through. The man had to duck his head a little to get in, as the doorframe was lower, even if the room itself had higher ceilings.  

“Olberic, you’re late,” Cyrus scolded, although the warmth in his voice offset the tone.

“I apologize,” Olberic murmured with a smile and hung his coat up on a hook that Erhardt had completely missed, considering it looked like a wall-sconce-statue.

Erhardt had to shove down a spike of desire as his eye flickered over Olberic’s appearance, quickly taking him in.  Beneath an open, short-sleeved, blue linen shirt he wore a skin-tight black T-shirt that highlighted all the musculature and definition in his chest and arms.  His jeans were a dark blue and relaxed, and held in place by a simple black belt. 

_ I don’t know what he’s been doing, but damn, _ Erhardt fleetingly thought before wrenching his focus back to the task at hand.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Sir Erhardt,” Olberic said as he moved a stack of papers off of a spare chair and onto Cyrus’ desk with a pointed and disapproving  _ thud. _  “What I thought would be a minor fix ended up with me discovering a much larger problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Erhardt asked, curious in spite of himself.

“I’m a super for two apartment buildings,” Olberic said and pulled the now-uncluttered chair over to the desk. “Usually it’s minor repairs and upkeep that the tenant either can’t, or isn’t allowed to, fix.  Sometimes it’s discovering that the reason the pipe system is shot is because a tenant has been flushing used needles and assorted other...interesting...items down their toilet. I don’t think I’ve had so many blood tests or vaccinations done at once in my life.  The trip to the hospital is what delayed me.”

“Oh dear, you didn’t tell me  _ that _ part,” Cyrus responded, worry lacing his voice.

“It’s no matter,” Olberic said and sat down.  “I should be fine. I think we only have another forty-five minutes or so with you, Sir Erhardt, so could you and Cyrus bring me up to speed?”

Erhardt nodded and scooted a little to the side so Olberic could join he and Cyrus as they worked out a model website.  

It was then that Erhardt found out what Cyrus meant by ‘spirited debates.’  

Neither of them actually  _ argued _ , but their creative visions were wildly different, to the point that Erhardt was working  _ hard _ to find a balance between the two.  Olberic was ruthlessly practical while Cyrus had a grandiose and elaborate artistic bent.  The website had to look pretty, but also be simple. It was trying to balance a Zen master’s tastes with an Impressionist painter’s proclivities, and Erhardt found it a delightful challenge.   Erhardt had to roll back a couple decisions he and Cyrus had settled upon, but by the time that their appointment was over, they had a functional website that satisfied both of his clients. 

“It was a pleasure meeting with you both today,” Erhardt said, completely honest.  “I’m glad we were able to work something out.”

“Thank you for agreeing to a lower price point for your assistance--our bottom line appreciates it,” Olberic said with a small, cautious smile. 

“You’re welcome,” Erhardt responded and stood.  

The other two followed suit and Cyrus walked around his desk before extending his hand to Erhardt.  “Please do come by our cafe again, if just for coffee. I'd love to chat about something other than business. You are a fascinating man.”

“Thank you, Cyrus,” Erhardt replied and shook Cyrus's hand. “The feeling is mutual.”

Erhardt turned to see that Olberic was already holding the door open for Erhardt, and there was something both thrilling and unnerving in the way Olberic was looking at him.

“After you, Sir Erhardt,” he said, and gestured Erhardt leave before him. “The path isn't long, but the shelves are narrow so you may need some guidance.”

Erhardt nodded and stepped past Olberic. His skin prickled as he moved through the man's shadow, and he waited as Olberic carefully closed the door.

Erhardt didn’t quite know how to interpret the smile he saw on Cyrus’ face before the fake wall blocked his sight. 

“Erhardt.”

Erhardt looked to Olberic. “Yes?”

“I...I should not have avoided you for eight years,” Olberic eventually sighed.

“I hurt you as badly as I could and used every insecurity you had against you. I'm not  _ surprised _ . I also didn’t go out of my way to contact you, either.”

An expression of sad listlessness briefly crossed Olberic’s face before he said, “Speaking of that...could we, perhaps, have a private conversation? I would compensate you for your time, of course.”

An odd mixture of surprise and hurt cut through Erhardt, but his expression never changed.  Surprise because he would have never thought Olberic would offer--hurt, because a part of him rebelled at considering  _ Olberic _ as  _ that _ kind of client. 

“Of course,” Erhardt replied.  “I will look at my calendar and get back to you with some possible times.”

“There is no rush--what is a little longer in the face of eight  _ years _ ?”

“Nevertheless, if anyone deserves my time, it’s you.”

The words hung oddly in the air between them until Olberic cleared his throat and said, “ If you could please follow me?”

The shelves hadn’t seemed that narrow before, but Cyrus was a slight man. Walking behind Olberic reminded Erhardt of how  _ broad _ the man was. Erhardt wanted to run his hands along Olberic's shoulders, press against the hard, toned muscle of his back, and--

_ Marketing client, _ Erhardt reminded himself.  _ And I doubt anything more than an argument will come out of our private meeting.  _ Erhardt admired Olberic as he went down the stairs and added,  _ Although I will not complain if something else does. _

Olberic stepped aside at the bottom of the staircase and let Erhardt pass. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before extending his hand. “I hope to hear from you soon.”

Erhardt took the offered hand and shook it. “I will be in contact as soon as I am able.”

Olberic’s hand was as rough as Erhardt remembered, large, and warm.  Ghostly memories of Olberic’s touch whispered through Erhardt, who ruthlessly shoved them down before their impact became apparent.  

A strange  _ something _ passed between them when they locked eyes and, for a moment, Erhardt would have sworn that Olberic was going to kiss him.

“I have time now,” Erhardt said abruptly, dispelling the tension.

“What?”

“I have about an hour between this and my next client.  He’s across town, but it’s a nice day, so would you walk me to the subway?”

“You still take public transportation?” Olberic asked, cautious amusement entering his voice.  

“As much as I can.  It makes me feel normal.”

Olberic nodded slowly.  “That makes sense.”

He let go of Erhardt’s hand, and Erhardt felt a brief spike of displeasure and loss, but kept it from his face.  “So...will you?”

“I would normally say no, but your brother will be making deliveries soon and i would prefer to stay out of his way than deal with his ire.”

_ Their friendship is ‘on the rocks,’ huh?  Seems to be a bit more than that, _ Erhardt thought.  “Well, then. Shall we?”

Olberic nodded and gestured that Erhardt precede him.  Erhardt caught some not-so-subtle finger-guns from Odette and rolled his eyes as he pulled open the door and stepped outside.  

The weather was nice enough that Erhardt was wearing only a light jacket, although he gave Olberic a slightly curious look before putting on his sunglasses.  “You don't want to get your jacket?”

“I will be fine,” Olberic said as he buttoned his shirt.  “I won’t be out for  _ that _ long.”

After a few steps in silence, Erhardt asked, “How did you meet Cyrus?”

“At the Royal Academy,” Olberic said.  “I was assisting with the renovation of the university’s library, and Cyrus  _ hovered _ and annoyed people because he was concerned about damaging priceless artifacts, books, etc.  So, one day, I just took him along with me. Showed him what we were doing and why. What was being done to preserve everything and explained that his hovering actually meant that we might get distracted and end up damaging the things he didn’t want damaged.”  Olberic smiled softly. “He sort of attached himself to me for a while after that until he had satisfied his curiosity. He was good conversation, witty, and charming, and I was, initially, flattered by his attention. However, once I had spent more time around him and learned that, no, he wasn’t flirting, that was just his manner of speaking, I happily became his friend.”

“And how did you two end up founding and running a  _ coffee shop _ together?”

“The bookstore came first,” Olberic replied.  “The coffee shop sort of just grew out of it. The space was vacant, so we pooled our resources and rented and renovated the space.  Cyrus wanted it to be a tea house, not a coffee shop, but I pointed out that coffee was more profitable, so he ended up agreeing to my idea, for once.”

_ Well, that neatly sidestepped the question,  _ Erhardt thought.  

“How is Gustav doing?  I saw him around recently, but wasn’t sure if he’d remember me or would want to speak with me,” Olberic said.  

“Gustav is doing well,” Erhardt responded.  “He’s made a name for himself and I’m quite proud of him.  We meet up from time to time.”

“That’s good to hear.  How is Bale? I think I saw  _ him _ on the news recently…”

“Bale transferred to military service once he graduated,” Erhardt responded.  “And has distinguished himself as a commander. It is nice to see friends succeed.”

“That it is.  Have you only lived in Noblecourt?  I’m sure you’ve traveled all over Osterra--the world--but have you always come home to here?”

“Yes, Noblecourt has always been home,” Erhardt said.  “It’s nice to have somewhere to come back to reliably. Traveling can be taxing.  I actually  _ own _ my property.”

“In a city whose rent is becoming increasingly outrageous, that is not a bad thing.”

“How about you, Olberic?  Where have you called home these past years?”

Olberic ran his fingers through his hair, a strange, haunted look briefly passing over his face before he shrugged.  “Here and there. Victor’s Hollow for...a while, Clearbrook, Duskbarrow. Cobbleston, Stonegard, and S’waarki. Atlasdam, too.  Even spent a year back in Hornburg.”

Erhardt blinked.  “You’ve moved around quite a lot.”

Olberic’s smile was tight.  “I have.”

“May I ask why?”

“Of course, but there’s no guarantee I’ll answer.”

“...why?”

A soft pain radiated off of Olberic before he sighed and said, “Nowhere felt right.”

_ Strange answer, _ Erhardt thought, but didn’t press.  

“Sir Erhardt makes the news often enough,” Olberic said.  “But what has Erhardt been up to?”

“Eight years is a lot of ground to cover, and there’s not much more before we hit the subway.”

“Then...how was your weekend?  Those were always the busiest times for you, if I recall correctly.”

“That hasn’t changed,” Erhardt responded, smiling wryly.  

“I saw that the spa you used to like--Rizzieri?--has closed in the time I was away, so where do you go to relax now?”

Erhardt was, frankly,  _ astonished _ that Olberic remembered that detail.  Olberic had always teased Erhardt about how he felt that the person who touched his naked body the most was his massage therapist.  It was a...pleasant memory, and one he hadn’t considered in years.

_ It was a different time, _ Erhardt thought, a low, soft longing curling in his heart.  

“I don’t go to spas anymore,” Erhardt said aloud.  “I employ individuals, and go to their independent business or home when I need their services.”

“It also keeps you from being recognized when about town.”

“That, too,” Erhardt chuckled.  

Erhardt was almost  _ alarmed _ to find himself relaxing in Olberic’s presence, in their leisurely, meandering discussion.  

“How did you decide on the Coffee Monster as the cafe’s name?” erhardt asked.

“It came from one of the television shows Theo and I watched when he was very young,” Olberic replied.  “Except the character liked sweets, not coffee. Cyrus still found it wonderful and, so, it became the name of the shop.”

“Who is Theo?” Erhardt asked, curious. There had been such a softness to Olberic's tone that Erhardt was sure that Theo was Important.

“Theo is…” Olberic sighed, his expression briefly cycling through anger, grief, and resignation before he continued: “Theo is complicated. Let us speak of other things.”

Erhardt nodded and filed away the response for later consideration. 

“Are you the one who hires for the cafe?”

“Yes,” Olberic replied, his shoulders relaxing somewhat. “We pay a living wage--Cyrus and I would rather be in the red than make it so our employees have to work multiple jobs and untenable hours to survive.”

“I wouldn’t have thought otherwise.”

Olberic gave him a quick, genuine smile and said, “Alfyn is a first-year MD student with the kind of charisma that makes people want to talk to him. Ophilia is studying for entry into a DO program, and will be taking her tests soon. She is one of the kindest souls I've met, although the gods help you if you make her angry! Therion you've already met, if what I've overheard is correct. I’ve never met anyone as down-to-earth or reliable as H'aanit.  She’s more than once proved herself capable of handling even the most difficult of customers. Leon...well, I’m glad I found him as a supplier, and I liked to think we were good friends once. He ensures that our coffee and tea are ethically sourced--actual fair trade instead of ‘fair trade.’ Your friend Odette started working for the book shop because she wanted a valid reason to tell unwanted clients that she was busy. We also frequently employ former unlicensed sex workers who want to get out.  After about a month, Cyrus and I will both happily lie about how long we have had said person working for us to write letters of recommendation to help them get into school or a different job. So, while our turn-over seems high on the surface, it’s high with a purpose. I do wish Z’aanta--who is H’aanit’s father--would find somewhere else to loiter, though.”

Erhardt found a smile had slowly grown over the course of Olberic’s soliloquy.  “You and Cyrus are both very good people.”

“Thank you,” Olberic responded.  “I...try.”

Erhardt was curious at the shadows that ate at Olberic’s edges, but knew he was nowhere near close enough emotionally to ask about them.  “And you succeed, I would say.”

Olberic smiled slightly, then looked ahead.  “Well, it seems like this is where we part.”

Erhardt barely kept himself from glowering at the entrance to the subway.  While he usually enjoyed the company of the client he had an appointment with, it would be trying to get himself to focus on his job and not on how nice it felt to have Olberic at his side.  To have talked with him and Cyrus. To feel... _ relaxed _ .

“I’ll get back to you with a time as soon as I have the chance to look over my calendar,” Erhardt said and turned back to Olberic.  “It was...nice...walking with you. I’m glad we have the chance to talk.”

Erhardt extended his hand to Olberic again, who took it in his own, and held Erhardt's eyes. For the moment, they weren't shaking hands, but holding hands, and Erhardt recognized the low, simmering heat in Olberic's gaze.

_ I have to cancel my client, _ Erhardt distantly thought.   _ I’m not going to be able to focus. _

“I look forward to hearing from you,” Olberic murmured.

“Likewise,” Erhardt responded, effortlessly pitching his voice to what he distinctly remembered made Olberic shiver.  From the brief hitch he heard in Olberic’s breathing, the tone still had its intended effect.

However, Erhardt had a client, and the only time he ever cancelled was when he was deathly ill, which he  _ was not _ even if his body did feel a little like he had a fever and only Olberic’s touch would be able to cool it.

So, Erhardt let go of Olberic's hand, turned and descended into the subway, and attempted to tame both a body and emotions that had Opinions on him leaving Olberic behind.

_ Perhaps, when we meet, we can do less talking and something far more pleasurable, _ Erhardt thought before stifling the hope.   _ No, it will probably be us finally hashing out what happened and figuring out how to move forward, if at all.  But, gods, what I would do to have him in my bed just one more time... _

It took until the subway stop where he got off to finally bring his body back under his command.  


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missed Thursday because I was busy. haha whoops. Here, have the update on Friday.  
> As always, nothing Octopath Traveler belongs to me.

The Institute had no  _ actual _ building, so the name was a bit of a misnomer.  Still, it was a better name than ‘people coming together to provide unconventional educational and career opportunities,’ which was truly what it was.  Precautions were required to run their ‘school’; while Noblecourt was fine with Erhardt's profession, there were still plenty of people and groups who would love to see the Institute disbanded. Even though the Institute bureaucracy was in the same office as all the other professions, individual records and files were kept scattered and secret, and classes were rarely held anywhere permanent.

Erhardt occasionally assisted as a sex educator in the most literal of senses, and was sometimes shadowed by escorts-in-training during major social events, but he was, in general, much happier to contribute financially to the Institute instead of devoting time to them. There were plenty of teachers--Erhardt was simply not one of them. However, he did have certain  _ obligations _ to fulfill, which was why he was sitting in a room in the capital building with high-ranking members of the government and leaders of the Institute, listening as they discussed the yearly government budget.  The Institute was  _ technically  _ government-funded, so was always included in fiscal considerations. It was mostly privately supported, however, so they requested only enough for upkeep of the various housing they provided for students; even still, the Institute had to fight for the funding it needed to continue to call itself a ‘government’ program of sorts.  

As the most high-profile of male escorts, Erhardt’s presence was required, as was Odette's as the representative of the female escorts. Neither of them wanted to be there, but they had suffered through worse indignities.

Erhardt was doing his damndest to not fall asleep when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He slipped it out, fully anticipating that it would be Leon.

Erhardt was pleasantly extremely wrong.

-Hi, this is Olberic. I got your number off Leon, and figured that texting you would be better than calling, as it is slightly less disruptive. I wanted to thank you for your help with the website. We've already gotten positive comments. 

Erhardt stared at his phone. 

_ He texted me?  _ He thought and slowly responded.  _ And he and Leon are on speaking terms? That’s good... _

-it's not a problem, Olberic. I'm glad I was able to help

-I was also wondering if I could ask a favor of you

-we just got back in touch and you’re already asking for favors?

-see, that’s the thing--this is it.  May I text you from time to time?

Erhardt gave his phone an incredulous look that wasn’t half as subtle as he had hoped, as it caught Odette’s attention.

“I know you’re bored, but stay with me, here,” Odette murmured.  “Or at least tell me who you’re talking to.”

“Olberic.”

Odette’s expression grew curious.  “Well, I suppose it makes sense. You two did look like you were ready to jump each other’s bones in the bookstore.”

“That obvious, huh?” Erhardt replied with a small smirk.  

“Well, not  _ that _ obvious, but you and I are trained to look for the tells, and dear  _ gods _ , if he had less self-control, that man would have dragged you into the tiny storage area and had his way with you.”

“If only.”

“Oho?”

Erhardt smiled and leaned back in his chair, maneuvering his phone so it was in his lap and away from potentially prying public eyes.  “Silver foxes and scars,” he said before texting Olberic back.

-i can’t see why not.  My responses may be delayed, though

-Not a problem at all

-I’m a bit busy, but I will check my calendar soon and get back to you with a date, I promise

-As I said, this has been put off for 8 years.  A little time more won’t change anything

-thanks for being patient

-thank *you* for responding

Erhardt smiled faintly and slipped his phone back in his pocket.  “Still discussing funding?”

“Yes,” Odette replied.  “How tedious.”

“Have you heard of a man named Darius?”

Odette tapped her finger to her lips thoughtfully.  “Only via reference to someone else. A man named Miguel works for someone named Darius.  Oh, by the way, blacklist Miguel. I’ll give you all the details you never wanted. The man needs to be put down like the rabid dog he is, but blood stains are hard to remove from silk so i can’t be the one to do it.  I’ve still let people know that i won’t be torn up if he goes permanently missing.”

Erhardt hummed and nodded.  “From what I’ve learned, Darius is behind the spike in victims from Stillsnow.”

“In that case, they both should be buried somewhere no one will ever find them.”

“Why didn’t you choose to be a dancer?”

“My good looks and charm would be wasted on dead men and women.”

Erhardt chuckled and caught the eye of Kit, who was serving as the male representative for ‘actors.'  Erhardt didn’t stop a smile when the man treated him to an overly-dramatic eye roll. 

_ You know what? Let's check my calendar while I'm doing nothing. _

After a few taps on his phone, Erhardt was scrolling through his calendar. Since he would be meeting with Olberic, part of him wanted a time limit, while another wanted to have the entire day free so they could take as much time as needed to work things through. He knew he'd probably also need some time to emotionally recover, and perhaps even speak to Leon, depending on how things played out. 

_ Damn,  _ Erhardt thought.  _ I really need to take an actual vacation, even though I'm technically accompanying people on their vacations or business trips. Well, so that's a month down the drain.  Maybe I'll take a three day “weekend”--Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday sometime next month. No, you know what? Vacations and business trips are profitable. I deserve a week vacation of my own. _

Erhardt promptly blocked off a Monday-to-Monday block of time in his calendar and labeled it “Leon,” since his brother was always pestering him about taking more time for himself.

“Did you hear anything of what was just said?”

Erhardt rattled off the exact dialogue of the tedious and circular arguments as he added Olberic's phone number to his list of contacts as O.E. Silverfox. He had code names for all of his clients, since no one needed to be unnecessarily outed if someone managed to get a hold of his phone. 

“And why didn't  _ you _ chose a different specialization?” Odette asked, amused. 

“Because when I entered the Institute, I was used to being a whore, and the thought of being anything other than that was too fantastical to me,” Erhardt said as he texted Leon.

-you gonna be around mid-month next month?

He wanted to have a date settled with Leon before he offered anything to Olberic. 

_ Might as well offer to take Olberic in the morning and see Leon in the afternoon, _ Erhardt thought before he squashed a smile at his internal phrasing.  _  Or have Olberic take me, but that’s a consideration for when not in public. _

“How do you like using the bookshop as an excuse?” Erhardt asked in a murmur as he waited for Leon’s response.

“It’s quite lovely,” Odette responded, her expression softening slightly.  “I know Cyrus from the Royal Academy. Gods, he was always such a prodigy, although I did warn him that his charm would get him in trouble one day.”

“That’s right, you were in academia for a while,” Erhardt murmured.  

There were a multitude of reasons for entering the Institute, and a thousand more for choosing the escort specialization; all of them were highly personal, so Erhardt never asked unless the information was offered.  He wondered and he speculated, but did little else.

“I left because I figured that if I was going to have to deal with sexism and exploitation, I should at least get paid well for it,” Odette said.  “I felt a little guilty for leaving him behind, though. The poor man--boy, at that time, really--had absolutely no shred of common sense.”

“He’s at least gained some in the intervening years, I’d imagine.”

“If only through necessity and experience,” Odette drawled.  

They sat in silence for a while before Odette murmured, “I wish I could play a drinking game to this bullshit.”

“We’d get trashed far too quickly if we did,” Erhardt replied.  “And the last thing the Institute needs is its two most visible escorts drunk at an important government function.”

Odette snickered at that.  “Not that they ever ask our opinion about anything.”

“It would be the one time they decided that our contribution would be meaningful.”

“True.”

After a pause, Odette asked: “What are your plans for after this farce is over?”

“Dinner,” Erhardt responded.  “I have no clients tonight because I knew I’d be annoyed after...this.”

“That’s more of a plan than I have,” Odette replied with a smile.  “Can I join you?”

“For dinner?  Absolutely. Having a ‘date’ will keep people from bothering me.”

“Likewise!” Odette laughed softly.  

“Do you think I should bring up Darius?  I’m sure the public in general has noticed the spike in refugees,” Erhardt said.

“Perhaps to the Board,” Odette replied.  “To the government? What would they even  _ do _ ?  We have to police ourselves unless something truly horrendous makes its way into the news.”

Erhardt nodded slightly.  “Unfortunate, but true.”

Eventually, Arianna managed to twist enough arms to get the necessary funding and, after a little more back-and-forth on unrelated topics, the meeting was adjourned.  

“Actually, can I spend the night with you?” Odette asked as she watched a particular politician walk by.  “I think I’m tired of playing the whore.”

“You’re, what, 40?  You could happily retire to a life of teaching and working at the bookshop,” Erhardt said.

“40 isn’t  _ that _ old.”

“It’s old for an escort.”

“You’re 35 and have been doing this for, what, two decades?”

“More or less.”

“And yet you still do it.”

Erhardt shrugged.  “I enjoy it.”

Odette looked thoughtful, then nodded slowly.  “Can I stay at your loft for a few days while I submit my resignation and organize which clients can go to which students?  Your building is lovely, the doorman could almost be considered a bouncer, and I know you won’t ask anything of me.”

“I have another property in the upper east side.  No one knows I own it, and I think that I have only one temporary tenant there--a recovering woman from Sunshade.  You can stay there for as long as you like, and I think she would appreciate the company.”

Odette looked amused.  “A safe house?”

“More or less.  It’s a quiet neighborhood.  No one will think to look for you there.”

Odette nodded slowly.  “I’ll consider it. Dinner first.”

“Dinner first,” Erhardt agreed and they both stood.  

Erhardt’s phone vibrated as they made their way out of the room and he took a quick look.  Leon.

-yeah, i’ll be around.  You got some time off then?

-i do.  Would the 16th word for you?

-pretty sure.  When do you want to meet?

-how about a mid-afternoon?  We can have a late lunch/early dinner

-want to sleep in, huh?

_ Not really, _ Erhardt thought with a wry smile.   _ More like I’d like to sleep  _ with _ someone, but that is dependent on what he is up--or not--for. _

-yeah.  3pm work?

-sounds good to me.  I’ll block the time off

-great!  I’ll see you then   


-yup

Erhardt  _ wanted _ to ask Leon how things were progressing with Olberic if he was comfortable with giving Olberic Erhardt’s  _ personal  _ number, but figured that that was something better asked in person.

“Olberic again?”

“No, my brother.  I’m using him as an excuse to figure out a day to meet up with Olberic.”

Odette looked incredulous.  “How does that work?”

“Olberic and I have a...history...that we need to work through.  As I’m not entirely sure what that will  _ look _ like, I want to be able to have an out, which means having a time limit.”

“That’s awfully manipulative.”

“I am aware,” Erhardt agreed.  “Hopefully Leon won’t mind.”

“He probably will.”

“True.”

Odette reached over, slid her arm around Erhardt’s waist, and pulled him close.  “Well, I’m not sure what  _ history _ you have to work through, but it certainly seems like Olberic is willing to look beyond it, if the way he was looking at you was any indication.”

“That’s the hope, Odette,” he replied as he put an arm around her shoulders.  

They both ignored any questions directed their way as they escaped out into the early evening.  Odette let out a soft, slow sigh once they were away from reporters. “So, where is this restaurant, and are we likely to run into any clients while there?”

“Not too far, and no,” Erhardt replied.  “I would normally take you to the one I went to with my brother, but we’re both dressed far too nicely for that.  The place I’m taking you is in the business district, so our nicer clothes won’t stand out too much.”

“You’re  _ sure _ we won’t run into any clients there?” Odette asked, skeptical.

“If we do, they will be far too drunk to care,” Erhardt responded and gave her a light kiss on the temple.  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Odette snorted, but gave him a small smile.  “Think I have any chance at seducing Cyrus?”

“About as much as a snowball’s chance in the desert.”

Odette laughed.  “Maybe if I pitch it to him as ‘research’?”

“Do you really want a relationship built on that much manipulation?”

“You’re right. Perhaps I should refrain from pursuing anyone or anything until I can see relationships as something other than...transactions.”

“You’re a bright woman, Odette,” Erhardt said as he turned them towards the restaurant.  “Olberic said that they often employ former sex workers to help them find a new life, and I think that Z’aanta would be more than happy to bounce any of your former clients who come to the bookstore and start making nuisances of themselves.”

Odette laughed.  “Oh, yes. And then he’d puff his chest out and pretend to be all chivalrous and his daughter would take him to task over making a scene and it would be lovely.”

“There you have it, then.  Only a few more blocks. Do you mind if I text Olberic the time I have available?”

“Pretty thirsty, huh?”

“That and I really do want to work things out with him.  He was...perhaps the best person I knew when I was coming out of a very dark place.”

Odette’s gaze was curious, but she didn’t press.  “Go ahead and text him,” she said instead. “I’ll make sure you don’t wander into oncoming traffic.”

Erhardt chuckled, pulled out his phone, and texted Olberic:

-how does next month on the 16th in the morning look for you?

Erhardt moved to put away his phone, but was brought up short by it vibrating.

-i’ll make it work

Erhardt nearly stopped in his tracks.

_ I went back and forth about my availability, and the first date that I suggest,  _ that _ is his answer? _ Erhardt wondered, incredulous.   _ No, ‘I’ll think about it,’ or ‘let me check and I’ll get back to you’? _

“Did he say ‘no’?” Odette asked as they waited at a crosswalk for the light to change.

“No, not at all,” Erhardt said.  “He said yes.”

“Then why do you look so confused?”

“He just...accepted the first date and time I offered,” Erhard said as he re-read the short, baffling message.  “Not only that, but he made it sound like, even if it was inconvenient for him initially, that he would change things around to  _ make _ it convenient.”

“At the very  _ least _ he likes you, Erhardt,” Odette said, her eyes laughing.  “You make time for the people you like. Even  _ you _ do that, you know.  When a colleague asks for help, you move things around to accommodate, even if it annoys a client or three.  You’re not direct about it, but we all know that, unless the answer is a direct ‘No,’ you’ll assist.”

Erhardt frowned slightly.  “I...never really noticed that.”

“Of course not,” Odette said and patted his cheek lightly with her free hand.  “You’re too busy to notice when you’re being kind.”

Erhardt shook his head and led Odette onward when the light changed.

Odette laughed when she saw the establishment.  “Yes, I can see how any client here would be trashed enough to not recognize us or be unwilling to recognize us.”

“It’s my favorite bar, has amazing food, and I know the owner.  We won’t be bothered. Now, shall we?”

“Indeed we shall.”

Erhardt opened the door for Odette and stepped in behind her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really flattered by how well received this story is. I...really never expected it to be anything other than shameless self-indulgence.  
> That being said, here's the next chapter, and Octopath will never be mine.

The last place Erhardt expected to see H’aanit was at a ballet performance as an usher. However, when he followed her gaze, she was focused on a couple sitting close to Erhardt and his client.  After rifling through his memory, Erhardt pinned the young woman in the couple as a newly second-year escort, which meant she was just starting to take on jobs. There was tension in the set of her shoulders and how straight she was sitting, but her expression was relaxed and she didn’t flinch from the hand that was placed upon her thigh.  Erhardt distantly recalled the client she was attending to, but only to the extent that the Institute trusted his integrity enough to allow novice escorts to accompany him. Still, Erhardt didn’t mind the extra security.

_ It appears that both Z’aanta and H’aanit are both tangentially employed by the Institute as protection. It really is true that every other person in Noblecourt has ties to the Institute. _

“I wonder which this ballerina will dance better--Odette or Odile,” Erhardt commented and shifted his focus back to his own client.  Clara was a lovely older woman who often employed Erhardt when she was treating herself to a more extravagant theatre or art performance; apparently he made her feel young and desirable again, even if she never requested his skills in the bedroom like he wished she would.  “They usually are good at one or the other, not both.”

Clara chuckled and gave Erhardt a smile.  “Am I correct in thinking that you prefer the Black Swan, Sir Erhardt?”

“No, actually,” Erhardt responded.  “I find the White Swan arc far more compelling--the dance is also much more technically challenging.  What she represents is more emotionally and morally challenging, too.”

Clara nodded and absently patted the back of Erhardt’s hand.  He moved slightly and caught her hand in his, lightly intertwining their fingers.  Her expression softened and she gently squeezed Erhardt’s hand before the lights dimmed.  

Erhardt had seen the ballet countless times, with countless dancers and many, varied interpretations, from strictly traditional to modern interpretations.  He always appreciated the technical skill and beauty of the music and dancing, even if he cared little for the actual art form. There were many other events he would rather attend, but attending a performance art required even less of him than galas.  

His heart twinged at how Clara linked her arm in his and rested her head on his shoulder.  

_ Loneliness cripples the soul, _ Erhardt thought and pressed a light kiss to her head.   _ Perhaps that is why I continue to do this.  Loneliness is unbearable. I should offer to more than merely take her back to her room.  She may need to be benefit from feeling like a sexual being again. _

“How did you like the first act?” Erhardt asked when the lights brightened for intermission.

“It’s always so beautiful,” Clara said, not letting him go.  “I was a dancer when I was much, much younger. Dancing this ballet as Odette  _ and  _ Odile is one of the greatest tests of a ballerina’s stamina and strength.  I...became pregnant before I could reach that height, unfortunately. My body changed too much for me to ever think of dancing professionally again after I gave birth.”

“You must have been truly a wonder on the stage,” Erhardt murmured.

She laughed softly.  “Flatterer.”

“You don’t pay me enough to receive false compliments,” Erhardt responded.

That made her laugh a little louder.

“Although I do think Seigfried is a bit boring in this performance,” Erhardt said.  “He’s never been the most compelling of characters, but this dancer leaves much to be desired.  Not expressive at all.”

“I’ve had more issue with how often the corps de ballet seems out of time.  You’d think that they would practice enough to be at least _mostly_ in sync.”

“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Erhardt drawled.  

“I need to go to the bathroom, Sir Erhardt--would you mind standing up?”

“I will at least accompany you there, if that is all right with you,” Erhardt said as he did so.

“Oh, no, stay here.  I find my way back by the color of your hair.  It is always a thrill returning to someone as handsome and distinguished as you.”

Erhardt caught her hand as she passed and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “Then I shall eagerly await your return.”

Clara laughed and blushed slightly before she wandered away.

Erhardt sat back down and turned his attention to H'aanit and the novice escort. From what he could tell, all was well, which was a relief.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, so slipped it out. 

Olberic. 

-How is your weekend going so far?

-With a client at a ballet so it's an easy start to Friday night

-am I interrupting?

-not yet. How is yours going?

-well enough 

-how descriptive 

-I'm better with actions than words so I'm sorry of my texts leave something to be desired 

_ Like you? _ Erhardt thought, but did not write.

-are you out with anyone?

-Cyrus.  We try to spend a little time outside of work together.  Where are your favorite places to eat? I’ve been busy so haven’t had a lot of time to explore

_ That is a very leading and prying and personal question and while I probably shouldn't answer, I most definitely am going to, _ Erhardt thought. 

-well, the restaurants I take clients to are: the Clearbrook, Marianna's, uncle Bill's, or the Highline. *My* favorite is called the Pig and Whistle. 

-on the corner of park and oak streets?

-yes

-ive eaten there before. It really is great.

_ You know what would also be great?  You in my bed, _ Erhardt thought.  However, before he could respond, he saw his client approaching, so put his phone away and gave her a charming smile, which she returned with a smaller one.

He let her pass him again and sat down next to her. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, pitching his voice a little flirtier than usual, which had the intended effect and made Clara blush slightly.

“Yes,” she said as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.  

“I’m glad to hear that,” Erhardt said as he pulled away.  

She grabbed his hand before he could pull it back entirely and pressed it to her cheek, and Erhardt’s shoulders dropped.

Clara was one of his quietest clients, and tended to hedge whenever  _ he _ asked about her personal life.  He had a feeling that he was a guilty pleasure, a gift she gave herself--beauty and vitality and attention focused solely on her.  

Odette had chosen to stay in Erhardt’s uptown apartment while she sorted out her post-escort life, so his loft was his alone.

“Come home with me, Clara,” he said softly and ran his thumb along her cheek.

She gave him a small, weak smile.  “I don’t have enough saved to do that.”

“We don’t have to have sex,” Erhardt said.  “Cuddling is much less expensive, even more so if clothes stay on.”

“You’ll just...hold me?”

“Yes.”

The lights dimmed and signaled the beginning of the second half of the ballet before she could respond.

Clara leaned a little more on him during the second half, though, and gently, idly stroked his hand.  He wasn’t sure whether or not she was considering it, as it was entirely possible that she no longer felt as if she  _ deserved _ intimate touch.  He had come across so many women who thought exactly the same thing that it was mildly horrifying to him.  Women native to Noblecourt tended to be more assured in their desire, since the divorce laws were equal and they had an entire  _ school _ dedicated to the art of pleasure.  Women from outside, particularly those from the Cliftlands--and Clara was from Orewell--had a much harder time owning what they wanted and how they wanted it, so whenever one of them chose to hire him for more than social companionship, Erhardt always tried to make it worth their while.

Erhardt took a quick, covert look to where the escort-in-training was--her posture had relaxed slightly, although she was still wound tight.  

_ It does take a while to be able to relax in the presence of strangers, _ Erhardt admitted.  H’aanit was still stationed where she had been all night, although her eyes were scanning the crowd for more dangers than just the intimate one that she was there to prevent.  

_ I’m glad I don’t have to be that kind of hyper-aware,  _ Erhardt thought.  

The ballet chose to end on a sadder note, and Clara’s grip on his arm grew a little tighter.  

_ A love denied, _ Erhardt thought.   _ The chance for happiness taken away by one man’s bad decision.  I wonder, is that why she insisted on seeing this ballet? _

Once the lights came up, Clara gave him a shaky, wan smile.  “I...”

Erhardt gently wiped the beginning of tears from her eyes using a handkerchief he got from his bag.  “I understand. I will respect whatever choice you make.”

Erhardt caught H’aanit striding briskly by and didn’t like the firm set of her lips and the flint in her eyes.

_ Gods have mercy on whomever pissed her off, since she certainly won’t, _ Erhardt thought and led Clara away.  

It was a short trip to the hotel where Clara was staying, and Erhardt walked her the entire way to her room.

“Is this where we part?” he asked before she could open the door.

She turned the key card over in her fingers and said, “You’d really just hold me?”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s a Friday, so i doubt you can stay the whole night.”

“No, but I will stay as long as I can.  If I remember my schedule correctly, I’m available until midnight.”

“What, do you turn into a pumpkin then?” she half-teased.

“Not quite,” Erhardt said with a smile.  “There is an after-party that requires my attendance, but I am allowed to be fashionably late.”

“What is it like...to be surrounded by such people?”

“Occasionally quite boring.  Conversation quickly grows vapid when people are high.”

Clara laughed a little at that, her face flushing.  “Well, then, I...I would like it if you just held me for a while.”

“Then I will do just that.”

Clara nodded, then opened the door and let Erhardt into her room.

Erhardt took off his shoes and suit jacket and asked, “Would you like to be lying down or sitting up?”

“My dear, you’re giving me far too many choices!” she laughed as she removed her own shoes and outer coat.

“Your comfort matters to me, Clara.”

That caused a long, pained silence to stretch out between them.  Erhardt walked over and asked, “May I hug you?”

Clara nodded, and halfway fell into his arms as Erhardt held her close.  He stroked her hair and murmured soft words of comfort before picking her up in a bridal carry, taking her to the bed, and settling with his back against the headboard, she curled up in his arms, her head resting in the junction of his neck and shoulder.

He gradually felt her breathing even out, but it wasn’t the deep breaths of sleep, just calm.  

“I’ve always loved your cologne,” Clara murmured.

“I noticed,” Erhardt said.  “And make sure to wear it for you.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

She settled against him a little more comfortably, and Erhardt lightly, absently stroked her head, neck, and shoulders.  The silence was soft and a bit sad, and Erhardt felt Clara’s body very,  _ very _ slowly unwind in his arms.  

“People book you just for this?” she asked so softly Erhardt almost didn’t hear her.

“They do,” Erhardt responded.

“For how long?”

“However long they need.”  
  
“Do they have sex with you?”

“Not usually.”

“How often does someone book you specifically for sex?”

“Often enough, although not as often as I used to be.”

“Have you ever loved someone, Sir Erhardt?”

“Yes, I have,” Erhardt murmured, the memory of Olberic’s smile when he talked about his employees and their accomplishments flitting through his mind.

“Before you became an escort?”

“No.”

“So they knew you were an escort and loved you anyway?”

“Yes.”

After another long pause, Clara asked: “Do you think 67 is too old to find love again, Sir Erhardt?”

“No.”

A more comfortable silence fell, and Erhardt only spoke again when it hit 11:50PM.  

“Clara, I have to go now.”

Clara sighed and buried her face in his shirt and took a long, deep breath.  After a second, she pulled back and gave him a smile. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said as she backed out of his arms and let him stand.  His legs had gone a little numb, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt with before.  

“I hope you enjoy the after party, even if the conversation is vapid,” Clara said.

Erhardt laughed softly.  “It will be what it will be. I hope you had a good time tonight, Clara.”

“I did.  Thank you.”

Erhardt pressed the gentlest of kisses to her forehead before he gathered his coat and shoes and left.

Erhardt let out a long, quiet sigh once he was a few doors away from Clara’s room.  

_ It really is sad, how touch-starved some people are, _ he thought as he walked away.  _ I should find out what had H’aanit annoyed.  She looked like she was ready to choke someone in the not-fun way. _

He dialed Gustav as he waited for the elevator.

“Erhardt, do you know what time it is?” Gustav said.

“Yes, and I know you’re up anyway since an escort-in-training was out at the ballet today.  Care to tell me what had H’aanit up in arms?”

A heavy sigh came through the receiver.  “You’ve met?”

“Yes.  She works at Olberic’s cafe.”

“Olberic’s cafe?  Wait,  _ Olberic _ ?   _ The _ Olberic?”

“Yes,  _ the _ Olberic.”

“He owns a cafe?”

“Co-owns, but, yes.”

“I had seen him around, of course, but...well, well, well.  Have you two made up yet?”

“We haven’t even made out yet.”

Gustav laughed.

“Anyway, yes, I’ve met H’aanit, she works as the manager at the Coffee Monster.  I remember Z’aanta working as security, so it makes sense his daughter would help, but...”

“Well, H’aanit is a little more protective of the female trainees than the male ones.  Lysa was perhaps a little skittish towards the end of her assignment because that particular client isn’t adept at flirting in any kind of subtle way, so H’aanit was just  _ intimidating _ and reminded him that he paid only for the ballet, nothing more.”

Erhardt snorted as the elevator dinged as it arrived.  “Well, I’m glad it was just that.”

“Trust me, we all are.”

“Did he complain?”

“Not at all.  In fact, he was rather pleased that we had someone looking out for the trainees.”

“A strange reaction, but welcome.”

“Indeed.”

“Well, thank you for the information.  Tell the trainee--Lysa, you said?--that I watched when I could and she seemed to do well, although her posture gives away her nerves.  If she softens her shoulders and sits back more on her tailbone, she’ll still be sitting straight, but it won’t be as nervous-looking.”

“I’ll pass on your advice,” Gustav said.  “I’m going to bed.”

“Sleep well.”

“Thank you.”

The line went dead and Erhardt looked at his phone.  There were no unread text messages, which Erhardt found both impressive and annoying.

_ Part of me  _ wants _ Olberic to be annoying, and yet another part is glad he is respecting my time and work, _ Erhardt thought.   _ It was my turn to respond, anyway. _

So, Erhardt responded as he rode the elevator down.

-where do you usually go if you eat out?

He put his phone away and straightened his jacket.

_ Gods, I could do with some good sex right about now, _ he thought.   _ And I have no clients who want sex from me for the next two weeks.  Damnit. No, I’m on business trips to be arm candy, prestige, and therapist. _

He flagged a cab down and made a quick stop at his loft to change clothes.  However, when he took out his phone, he saw that he had a text message waiting.

From Olberic.

-Cherry Blossom sushi, Brand’s Thunder, and the Chit Chat diner.

Erhardt burst out laughing at the second one mentioned.

Brand’s Thunder was the dive bar of Noblecourt's gay bars.  It was themed, it was loud, had cheap karaoke, and multiple trivia nights that drew fairly large crowds; however, it was hidden away in a tiny corner of a rather gaudy part of town, where only locals knew to look.  It had the best cocktails in Noblecourt as well as being  _ the _ place to meet other gay men.  The Institute often used it as a training ground for male escorts and actors, since both needed to know how to flirt with people both dense and adept.  

_ Well, it’s nice to know that Olberic is looking for companionship, I suppose, _ Erhardt thought, although had to fight down a surprisingly strong spike of something that came close to jealousy.   _ Good for him.  He needs someplace that isn’t subtle. _

-Brand’s Thunder, Olberic?  Really?

-Cyrus likes the cocktails and I haven’t the heart to tell him that the reason why people constantly buy him drinks is because they want to bed him.

-Excuses, excuses

-If you came with us, I doubt either Cyrus or I would have to worry about being approached

-Yes, and my reputation would be ruined.  I’ll take you to a much better place if you really want a gay bar--Balogar’s Blade.  

-is that a promise?

Erhardt stared at his phone.

_ Did Olberic Eisenberg just trick me into agreeing to a  _ date _? _

-You asshole.  I suppose it is

-great!  Cyrus and I are both available after 7PM most nights so while we might miss happy hour, we might be in time for something else

“Demons take me, I can’t believe he  _ tricked _ me,” Erhardt said aloud as he stared at his phone.  “ _ How _ ?”

Erhard could just  _ hear _ Leon cackling if he ever found out.  

-I’ll figure out a time

-You’ll have to tell me how Cyrus and I should dress, though.  I’ve never been to an upscale, Sir Erhardt-worthy bar

“Is the man  _ drunk _ ?  He has to be drunk,” Erhardt said.

-Go to sleep

-Only if I can have you beside me

“Yes,” Erhardt sighed.  “He is drunk. Gods  _ damnit _ I forgot how bad he’d get.  And there’s a  _ record _ , so I can’t back out of taking him out.”

Saying those words aloud sent a slow, happy shiver up Erhardt’s spine.  

_ I’m potentially taking Olberic out on a date and we haven’t even had a true discussion about what happened between us, _ he thought as he got changed.   _ I  _ will _ be taking Cyrus along with us, but I know that he’ll attract his own crowd.  I just have to make sure people know that he is  _ strictly _ off limits. _

Erhardt adjusted his clothing and gave himself a long look in the mirror. He had only a touch of makeup on, ruby drop earrings, and a gold necklace with a ruby and diamond pendant. He wore maroon skinny-cut dress pants, a white, fitted shirt with garnet cuff-links, a burned-velvet  maroon vest with a subtle pattern that took multiple looks to notice that the flowers on it were barely concealed phalluses, and a dark, burnished bronze tie. 

He nodded, satisfied before he pondered aloud, “What would I have them wear?  I’m sure Cyrus has something that won’t have him too out of place, but Olberic?  I doubt he owns a suit at all.”

The mental image of  _ Olberic _ in a tailored suit made Erhardt groan in something between dismay and anticipation.

“I cannot take him to get the suit tailored.  I  _ cannot _ ,” Erhardt told himself.  “I will get Cyrus to, I’m sure he’ll enjoy it.  I probably won’t be able to arrange it until  _ after _ my vacation, but that will simply give them time to get Olberic’s clothing done.”

Erhardt simmered in discontent as he fixed his hair again.  “Can’t believe the fucker tricked me  _ while drunk. _ ” 

After he was finished, he grabbed what accessories were necessary, headed out to the after-party he was hired for, and struggled to shove images of Olberic in a suit out of his head. 

He failed miserably.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo...there's sex in this chapter towards the end. I mean, it was going to happen *eventually*...
> 
> So yeah. SEX. IT HAPPENS. Sex.
> 
> Other than that warning, nothing Octopath Traveler related belongs to me.

To pass the time while waiting for his client to emerge from her hotel room, Erhardt texted his brother.

-i cant believe you're complaining about how you had a job in paradise.  Job or not, it still must’ve been nice

-Its hard to enjoy myself when I'm constantly on the watch for someone else's pleasure

-what exactly did you *do*?

-played tour guide, ket him from being lonely, was a therapist. I swear to the gods, I should have an unofficial psych degree or something 

-i remember you saying that you hear a lot about people's problems in a way that has nothing to do with sex

-it's amazing, how often people just need someone to listen to them or hug them.

-yeah, life can be pretty isolating 

-soooo…

-dont you dare

-how are things with Tressa?

-i dont have to answer you

-of course you dont, but I'm sure you've seen her dating other people who look awfully like you, some who are even *older*...

-shut up

-dont be that way, Leon. I have your best interests in mind, and it is your best interest to stop giving yourself blue balls *intentionally*

-it's better for her

-better for her, or better for *you*?

-both! Can we talk about something else??

-have you heard anything about Darius, Miguel, or Simeon in your travels?

-whispers here and there. More about Simeon than the others because he is, in general, more visible. But I think that Alfyn knows *of* Miguel at the very least. The kid doesnt get angry often, but I've never seen him look so pissed or clean dishes with such vigor upon hearing Miguel’s name 

-Interesting. Looks like someone has a darker past than he let's on.

-you woulsnt think it, would you?

-tirns out h'aanit works as security for young escorts out on the job

-not surprised. She can be scary and when she and her dad team up? Terrifying

-people are bothering Odette?

-it is very firmly past tense now. 

-I sense a story

-A former client came in and made a scene, but 125 lbs of wolfdog had an Opinion on the matter and knocked him on his ass for being an ass

Erhardt snickered before replying.  

-Hagen and Linde are some of the smartest animals I’ve ever come across

-Linde is also one of the cutest

-Says the cat person.  

Erhardt hesitated, then said:

-You gave Olberic my *personal* phone number

After a minute or so of a pause, Erhardt received an answer.

-I did

-So, have you two resolved your differences?

-He tried really hard to make amends and shit.  Apologized without trying to justify his bullshit.  He’s *tried* to be more open, but damn does the man have issues with handling his emotions

_ Like we do? _ Erhard drawled internally.

-and you forgave him enough to giev him my number when he asked for it?

-yeah.  Why? Has he been bothering you?

-No, we just text from time to time.  He’s really good at respecting the fact that I’m busy

-Good.  Because I was going to yell at him for you if he was making a nuisance of himself

Erhardt chuckled.  

-No, not at all.  How is business for you?

-not too bad.  Going to be traveling for a little bit but I’ll be back in time for our meeting

-you better.  where are you planning to travel?

-here and there.  I like Noblecourt, but I’ve gotten a bitch of an itch lately

-hey, as long as you stay in touch, i don’t care if you go to the moon

-i’ll keep that in mind

Erhardt’s attention was caught by the click of the door unlatching.

-sorry, have to go.  Safe travels and call me if you need me

Erhardt put away his phone as a very uncomfortable-looking Ophilia exited her hotel room.  She wore a sleeveless, pale blue cocktail dress that fell to below her knees with a princess line cut, a short v-neck collar, and cap straps. A chiffon layer flowed over a silk sheathe, and the waistline was highlighted by a line of false, white pearls.  She wore a simple silver necklace with the seal of the church on a pendant, silver hoop earrings, and sported strappy, high-heeled silver sandals on her feet. She fiddled with her silver clutch handbag and gave Erhardt a tight smile, which Erhardt returned with a much easier one.

“One of my first clients was a Sister in the Church, you know.”

Ophilia blinked.  “Pardon?”

“It took a lot less money to hire me back then,” Erhardt continued.  “I was to provide cover for her family, as she was quite young and her family was pressuring her to marry and settle down with a Nice Young Man rather than to join the ranks of the clergy.  So, I was, if temporarily, her husband.”

As Erhardt recounted his tale of a nearly-disastrous--in his opinion--job, Ophilia’s eyes grew wider and her face redder as she laughed.

“Later that night she wanted to, ah,  _ consummate _ the marriage, as it were,” Erhardt finished with a wink.  “I like to think I left a very happy wife behind. Her tip certainly said I did a good enough job.”

Ophilia groaned in embarrassment and hid her face in her hands, although her shoulders were shaking with laughter.  

“Now, now, don’t mess up your make-up,” Erhardt tutted and pulled her hands away.  “Let me take a look.”

Ophilia’s face was slightly smudged from tears of laughter, so Erhardt dried her off, took out the make-up supplies from her purse, and refreshed her quickly.  

“There.  Feeling better?”

“Yes,” Ophilia said, her smile easier and more genuine.  “I suppose I just can’t believe I’m with  _ you _ and at this kind of event.  I know that Father is sick and he’s gotten old enough that attending these meetings has grown taxing, but…”

“He would not have chosen you if he did not think you both worthy  _ and _ competent,” Erhardt pointed out.  “I have a gift for you, Miss Clement.”

“You do?” Ophilia asked, curious.

Erhardt nodded and took out a small box from his pocket.  “I noticed you had pierced ears.”

“Well, yes,” Ophilia said and gently pulled on a small, silver hoop. 

“These are blue topaz studs,” he said and opened the box.  “They’re not large, but anything too big would look tacky on you.  You are a delicate, beautiful woman, and your jewelry should be much the same.”

“I thought topaz was yellow-orange,” Ophilia said.  “And I can’t accept a gift from you. It wouldn’t be right.”

“They are a gift from Miss Ravus, technically,” Erhardt said.  “I mentioned you were attending and would need a nice accessory piece, so she offered these earrings to me.”

“Truly?”

“Would I have reason to lie to you?”

“No...I suppose you wouldn’t,” she said and deftly took out her hoop earrings.  “Just...are you sure? They’re so beautiful.”

“As are you, and we need you to shine brighter than I,” he said with a smile and exchanged the hoops for the studs.  

“Do you always lavish this much attention on your clients?” Ophilia asked.

“Of course I do,” Erhardt said and fluffed Ophilia’s hair once the studs were in.  “There. Give you a halo and wings, and you could be called an angel.”

Ophilia blushed, but took Erhardt’s arm when he offered.

Unfortunately, the event he and Ophilia were attending required him to be alert, not just because Ophilia was a first-time client, but because she was acting as the representative of the Church’s interests and had orders to report back to the Archbishop everything that she saw and heard.  She was to make no promises and stick to standard Church doctrine, which Erhardt knew would be difficult for the young woman if someone managed to rouse either her sympathies or her anger. Such meant that he had to watch both  _ her _ words as well as his own.  A difficult task, to be sure, but not impossible.

The building where the meeting of the cultural and political elite was being held was in the ballroom of the hotel he and Ophilia were staying in for the night. While they could have made a day-trip of it--Atlasdam wasn't  _ that _ far from Noblecourt--they and Josef had decided that it would be safer and more practical to stay the night. 

In Erhardt's opinion, the meeting they were attending was even more pointless than the state budget one he and Odette had been required to attend. It was a “discussion” regarding the merit and/or expansion/contraction of social and religious services, among other power games. The rich and powerful had a tendency to play with the lives of those below them, which was why the Church and the Institute both sent at least one representative. Naturally, there were politicians and trend-setters who cared, but they were in the minority. Arianna and Kit were in attendance as representatives for the Institute, while Ophilia was there on the Church’s behalf.

The ballroom was mostly filled when they arrived, which had been the point--Erhardt had wanted to make a discreet entrance with Ophilia so she could get used to the crowd she would temporarily be running with. 

There were plenty of business suits, and black was clearly the preferred color for both that and the dresses, but Erhardt had never feared standing out, although his normal red had been toned down to black with bold, red accents that shimmered in the light, a single ruby ring, and the lovely earrings he had chosen as a gift from Cordelia's collection. He was meant to be both shadow and compliment to Ophilia, but he knew he'd always be noticed first--which was, quite frankly, the point. 

However, Erhardt knew that the afternoon was going to be taxing when he heard an unfortunately familiar and much-hated laugh.  

_ What the hell is Mattais doing here? _ Erhardt wondered as he casually looked around.   _ His presence isn't required at a cultural and social function that has nothing to do with the branch of the government that he heads.  _

The Institute, like any school, occasionally had a bad apple or three.  Mattais Leoniel and Simeon Obsidian were the two more remarkable ones, although very few outside the inner circle of the Institute knew that they were both graduates.  Neither of them had graduated as escorts--Mattais was an actor, Simeon a dancer--for which Erhardt was only  _ slightly _ grateful.  At least  _ his _ profession didn’t have such high-profile douchebags.

_ Although wouldn’t it be my luck that this Darius character is an escort graduate, _ he thought.

“Is that Mattais?” Ophilia asked him in a quiet murmur.  “He donates a great deal to the church.”

“Yes, that is he,” Erhardt confirmed, only practice keeping disdain from his voice. Mattais had a silver tongue that made people make promises they never would have normally; Erhardt knew from an overheard conversation that the Institute  _ strongly _ suspected that he was building a cult, although no one knew if it was just a cult of personality or something far more sinister. Erhardt had never liked the man when he saw him during jobs, even if Erhardt could appreciate the depth of his skill.

“He always draws a crowd,” Ophilia observed. “His oratory can be almost hypnotic.”

Erhardt inclined his head slightly. “I am sure we will be hearing plenty from him tonight. His job as the Commerce Secretary gives his word on domestic matters weight, although I am not sure why  _ he  _ is in attendance.  ‘Budgetary concerns,’ perhaps.”

Ophilia nodded slowly and stepped in closer to Erhardt, her hand resting on Erhardt's bicep. 

“Please watch out for me, Sir Erhardt.  He was...persistent in his pursuit of Lianna when it looked like she would inherit Father’s influence, but when it was announced that I would be the one to succeed my father, his attention turned to me. It is...uncomfortable.”

_ Said with the subtlety of a woman used to walking carefully around fragile male egos, _ Erhardt thought. 

“I will only leave your side if you need to use the bathroom,” he promised as softly as Ophilia had spoken.

“Erhardt Bastralle, is that you?”

Erhardt shoved his dislike down and turned to face Mattais. 

Erhardt knew that his own fashion sense tended towards the ‘gaudy’ spectrum--red and gold weren't subtle colors and he liked jewelry more than was perhaps healthy. Mattais’ sensibilities were almost campy. He wore a dark brown waistcoat, black dress slacks, and a white dress shirt, but that was the most subtle part of his attire. His overcoat went down to his knees, light blue with brilliant white animal fur around the cuffs, hem, and neck. The inside of said jacket was blue-black silk, and had a flame-like pattern that glimmered when he shifted. His fingers glittered with rings and gems that flashed in the light; a gold necklace with a pendant inset with a black opal laid on his chest, resting on an iridescent blue/purple tie. His sandy-brown hair was neatly combed into deliberately messy waves and he walked with confidence over to Erhardt and Ophilia. 

“Mattais Leoniel, it's been a while,” Erhardt said, giving the man an easy smile and shifting slightly so he was standing just a little in front of Ophilia. “You're looking well.”

“As are you, and your lovely companion. I am most pleased to see you here, Ophilia,” Mattais purred as he shook the free hand that Erhardt offered to him.

Ophilia gave him a polite, pleasant smile and said, “It is a pleasure to see you as well. The Church appreciates all your contributions.”

“I am happy to support an institution that gives people such  _ hope _ in their dark hours, no matter how futile such may be,” Mattais responded.

Ophilia's smile never faltered. “The Sacred Flame provides light to all those who are weary and downtrodden.”

“Yes, yes, of course” Mattais responded almost dismissively. “I apologize, but I see my companion for the night, and thus must leave the light of your presence. Perhaps we'll have another chance to speak before we part for the night.”

Mattais reached out to take Ophilia's hand but she shifted just enough that, while she wasn't clinging to Erhardt, no part of her was available. 

“You're right, we really shouldn't take up more of your time,” Erhardt said and gave Mattais a polite nod in farewell.  “Come, Miss Clement. There are other people with whom we should converse as well.”

Erhardt guided Ophilia into the crowd, making sure to put himself between her and Mattais as they walked away.

“He says such contradictory things,” Ophilia murmured as they moved easily through those assembled.

_ He's an asshole, _ Erhardt added mentally. 

“Have you had the chance to look over the agenda for the afternoon?” Erhardt asked. “I am merely glad that your presence wasn't required in the morning.”

Ophilia nodded. “Military, science, and infrastructure, among other things, is not exactly in my domain.”

“Nor mine; my good looks and charm would have been wasted on such stuffy people,” Erhardt drawled, which made Ophilia smile slightly.

When the group was called to order, Ophilia stood up straighter, relaxed her neck and shoulders, tilted her chin up, and softened her grip on Erhardt's arm. She went from demure and intimidated to the picture of cool composure in about 5 seconds, and Erhardt smiled. It was escort training protocol.

_ I wonder with whom she interacted to learn that routine,  _ Erhardt mused before leading her to a seat, waiting until she was settled before sitting next to her. 

Arianna took the seat on Ophilia's opposite side, and Kit gave Erhardt a covert wave before sitting down as well. 

_ They both look a little tired, _ Erhardt thought.  _ I'm so glad I don't have to play word and mind games on the same level that they do. _

Erhardt watched tension creep into Ophilia's shoulders as politicians debated the merit of people, so gently nudged her, which made her startle slightly. He offered her one of his hands, and after a moment of confusion, she cautiously took it. Her shoulders relaxed when Erhardt did nothing except hold her hand, although the new indicator of her displeasure was how tightly she squeezed his.

He knew she had hit a tipping point when she let go of his hand, stood, and said, more firmly than Erhardt would have thought her capable of, “The Church disapproves of anything that will increase human suffering and stands against the following policies as were outlined by the conference and committees.”

Erhardt couldn't stop a small smile that found its it's way to his face as she went over each proposed cut or additional requirement, eviscerating each and making a few of the most vocal supporters look sheepish--except for Mattais, of course, who merely looked politely amused. 

“The Church's opinion will be taken into consideration,” was Mattais’ reply.

However, before Ophilia could sit down, Arianna stood and said: “The Institute stands with the Church on the aforementioned matters. Additionally…”

Erhardt sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, unable to keep a smirk off his face.  He knew he looked incredibly smug, and did not care. The Church and Institute were two of the most powerful entities in the Flatlands, so them working in solidarity was a force to be reckoned with. The best part was that none of what Ophilia said went against Church doctrine. 

When both she and Arianna sat down, it was to applause from the more progressive members of the assembly. Ophilia blushed and took Erhardt's hand as soon as she could. 

“You did exceptionally well,” Erhardt whispered  as he leaned in close to Ophilia.

“You really think so?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly. 

“Yes.”

“Oh. Good.”

The rest of the meeting went by without Ophilia having to vocally object to anything outright, although Erhardt's hand was a little sore by the end.  It had been interesting, discovering what annoyed her and what didn’t. Erhardt had found that the best way to learn about a new client was to watch them and listen to what they  _ didn’t _ say.  

Ophilia’s silences spoke for her. 

She was far more prone to passion than Erhardt had suspected, and cared  _ deeply _ for people, even when spoken of in the abstract. She was aware that she was being watched, and was at ease with the public scrutiny. She had always put Erhardt between herself and other men, and her displeasure leaked through the most when a man spoke on women's matters. She was extremely uncomfortable with Mattais, and Erhardt quickly learned that her grip grew tightest when Mattais was looking at her. 

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Erhardt asked. “We technically aren’t required to attend.”

“We should.”

“This is your first meeting, no one would either notice or care if you left early. It makes sense that you would be more tired than most, particularly since you spoke to the general assembly and brought quite a few people to task.”

Ophilia smiled faintly. “No, it wouldn't be right. We'll stay for the appetizer and then leave. I can plead a sour stomach that way.”

Erhardt nodded and stood. Ophilia took his offered hand for help, and, together, they walked out of the room and back to the ballroom, where round tables had been set up. Erhardt was relieved to see that he and Ophilia had been seated with Arianna and Kit. 

He was less than pleased to see that Mattais was seated across from Ophilia. An unfamiliar name was next to Mattais on his left--Lyblac Galderdatter. There were two other people whose names Erhardt recognized set to sit with them--an inoffensive duo from the Council for the Arts. They had both patronized him, but he had no stand-out memories, which meant they had had mediocre sex that Erhardt had worked to ensure at least  _ they _ enjoyed. 

However, when Ophilia sat down, a flicker of exhaustion crossed her face that made Erhardt frown. 

“Miss Clement, we do not  _ have _ to stay.”

Ophilia shook her head. “At least for the appetizers.”

“He's right, Ophilia,” Kit said. “No one will bitch if you go home. The Archbishop always left after the meeting concluded.”

Ophilia hesitated, but before she could respond, Mattais and a woman Erhardt had never seen before arrived at the table.

Her eyes were a bright garnet, her skin alabaster-pale, her lips an almost violent red slash across her face, and her black hair fell in slow waves to her mid-back,.  Her dress was a delicate, simple affair of black silk, while her necklace was a webwork of onyx and rubies that seemed to almost attach to the off-the-shoulder sleeves of her dress.  She had a large, hammered-silver bracelet with a large black opal in the center on her left hand, and two onyx rings on her right hand, stacked on top of each other. Her expression reminded Erhardt very much of a cat who was leisurely playing with a prey animal it had trapped, her eyes half closed, a tiny smirk on her face as she nodded to Erhardt.  

“Sir Erhardt.  Lady Arianna. Sir...Kit.  It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the woman said as she sat down, her voice a low, light alto.

Erhardt  _ really _ didn’t like how she was looking at Kit, who  _ also _ didn’t like how she was looking at him.  He still gave her a cheerful smile and said, “And you are Ms. Galderdatter?” 

“I am,” she confirmed.  “But, please, Sir Kit. Call me Lyblac.”

Ophilia shifted besides him and placed her hand over on Erhardt’s thigh.  He knew it wasn’t anything sexual--now that she had discovered that Erhardt touched her for comfort and nothing else, it seemed she planned to take advantage of it, or, at the very least, felt comfortable seeking comfort through physical touch.

“Your speech was quite impassioned back there, Ophilia,” Mattais said, his voice smooth and smile more-than-slightly predatory.  

“Thank you, Mattais,” Ophilia said, giving him a polite smile.  “While I dislike finding us on opposite ideological sides in some matters, your manner of speaking is compelling.”

“Your impassioned defense of the...less fortunate among us was truly breathtaking,” Mattais said.  “How do you find such good regarding for others in your heart?”

“I do my best to live by the tenants of the Church, one of which is compassion,” Ophilia said.  “I help others in the hope that they themselves will feel encouraged to bring light into someone else’s life when it is needed.”

“How is your father?  I have heard that he is feeling his age these days.”

“Father is doing well,” Ophilia said, and left it at that.

Erhardt found himself running verbal interference for Ophilia more than he had ever needed to for Cordelia, even after her suitors became insistent and persistent, and he found himself disliking Mattais even more with each pass.  Ophilia’s hand on his thigh curled slowly inward to where some of the cloth was twisted in her grip.

_ I don’t care if I lose the pants, it will be worth it, _ Erhardt thought as he batted aside another extremely underhanded and subtle come on that was directed Ophilia’s way.  

They didn’t even make it through the entire appetizer course before Ophilia tapped a literal SOS in Morse code on Erhardt’s thigh.  Her expression had never changed from one of pleasant interest, although the way she had played deliberately dumb made him wonder if Cyrus was actually not dense but an  _ extremely _ good actor who covertly taught his employees a few Institute skills.

_ Wouldn’t that be funny _ ? Erhardt briefly thought before he gently intertwined their fingers and squeezed, a confirmation that he would back her up to leave.

Ophilia looked to Mattais and said, “I’m sorry, but I’m feeling a little faint.  I am unused to being under such public scrutiny and my, ah,  _ speech _ , has left me drained.  I apologize, but I am going to retire early.  Sir Erhardt?”

Erhardt temporarily let go of her hand, stood, and offered his hand again, which she took and used to help her stand.  He put a hand lightly on her lower back to steady her before giving Mattais and Lyblac a small nod. “It was wonderful meeting you, Miss Galderdatter, and it was nice seeing you, Mattais.  We have to catch up.”

“Yes, we do,” Mattais agreed, although there was an undertone to Mattais’ voice that left Erhardt wanting to shudder.  “Take care, Miss Clement.”

Ophilia gave him another polite smile and actually curtseyed slightly before allowing Erhardt to lead her away.

“I do need a brief moment in the bathroom,” she murmured to Erhardt.

“I can’t follow you, but I will be waiting outside,” he said and let go of Ophilia’s hand.  Ophillia nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. Erhardt sighed softly and smoothed out his pants.

Erhardt waited a polite distance outside the woman’s bathroom, but a few minutes later, he caught sight of Mattais approaching.  He had Opinions about the man's advances on Ophilia, and had wanted to get her out and away from him before he could find them again--unfortunately, it appeared he had no such luck.  Quite a few things the man had said also left Erhardt wary, especially when Mattais had spoken of refugees and the lower-class--the man had used a very particular vocabulary that left Erhardt’s skin crawling both during the meeting and dinner.  There were  _ rumors _ swirling about Mattais, too, things Erhardt had heard from younger escorts and Gaston that made him uncomfortable.   Erhardt hated that he had employed the same kind of vocabulary Mattais had used, but it had drawn his attention from Ophilia, and that had, in part, been the point.  

_ Make myself more attractive a conversation partner than the young woman, _ Erhardt thought as he watched Mattais.   _ Unfortunately, I may have signaled something that is no longer true.  However... _

“You've truly made a name for yourself, Erhardt,” Mattais said as he took up a position next to Erhardt. “You name is known throughout the world, even if your appearance is not. I always forget how  _ attracti _ ve you are--it is small wonder that even the Church is falling over itself to employ you.”

“I'm flattered to hear that I have achieved such notoriety,” Erhardt said smoothly before deciding to roll the dice. “I try to leverage it for the benefit of those less fortunate than I.”

“It truly is a shame, the influx of all these poor women showing up in Noblecourt looking for a better life only to find it even worse than before,” Mattais said. “Have  _ you _ been able to do anything about such...unfortunates?”

The use of  _ that _ particular word made Erhardt suppress a shudder.  Still, it was a clue, and tailored his next comment: ”It is, and I am searching for a way to help that won’t get them in more trouble. To think that Darius arranges their arrival only to have them fall into the clutches of those far worse.”

“Indeed.”

No matter how good the actor, a person always had their tells.  Mattais recognized the name. 

“He has an eye for those he thinks will succeed,” Mattais said, and this time  _ he _ was watching Erhardt’s expression carefully.

Erhardt nodded.  “It’s too bad that they fall into the clutches of people like Miguel, who treat them so cruelly.  I’d like to help, but I don’t know who to approach.”

Mattais’ interest had clearly deepened even as Erhardt was using every single bit of training and self control to keep his body and expression relaxed.  

“I think I know a person you may be interested in speaking with.  His name is Werner,” Mattais said and searched around in his pocket for his own business card case.  “Here, I’ll write his contact information for you.”

“Oh no!”

Erhardt found himself catching Ophilia, who clung to him, wobbly. He steadied her, and found that one of her heels had broken off.

“Are you okay?” Erhardt asked as he held Ophilia, glad for the distraction.  Hearing Werner’s name...did not bring back good memories. She had probably saved him from prying questions.

“Yes, I'm fine,” she responded as she tried to balance on one foot.  “I just haven’t worn such high heels before.”

“You really need to take care of yourself, Miss Clement,” Mattais said. “It would be a true tragedy to see you injured.”

Ophilis gave him a tight, tired smile. “I appreciate your concern.”

“For you,” Mattais said and stuck the business card in Erhardt's handkerchief pocket. 

“Thank you.  I’ll be sure to follow up.”

Mattais looked around Erhardt’s shoulder then said, “Ah, I’m sorry, but we must part.  My presence is required.”

“And we should get going, Miss Clement,” Erhardt said as he turned his attention away from Mattais, who strode briskly away. “You need to rest.”

“I agree,” Ophilia responded. “But, how am I going to leave?” she asked, gesturing at her broken heel.

“In style,” Erhardt said and gave her a wink before picking her up on a bridal carry, making sure that her dress was tucked so it displayed nothing.

Ophilia's face went bright red, but she buried her head in between Erhardt's neck and shoulder. He picked up a bag from a secure location he had hidden it, gently placed Ophilia down, and took out a spare pair of sneakers.

Ophilia actually laughed when he helped her out of her sandals and into the more comfortable shoes.

“You really do prepare for everything, don't you?”

Erhardt gave her a smile and said, “I try. How are you feeling, Ophilia?”

The young woman startled at his use of her first name, but smiled. “I...could be better.”

“Let's get you somewhere you can rest then. These functions can be exhausting if you're not used to them.”

Erhardt tossed her sandals in the trash, then offered his arm. “Shall we?”

She slipped her arm through his, the motion much easier than earlier in the night. “Are you used to such functions, Sir Erhardt?” she asked.

“I am,” he responded. “Although that doesn't mean they are any less exhausting.”

As they waited for their elevator, Ophilia asked, “What did Mattais say to you?”

“Hm?”

“You were completely at ease with him most of the night dismissive, even. But, he said something that made you freeze for a moment. You protected me from him all night--will you tell me what I can protect you from?”

Erhardt gave her a small smile. “He brought up a name from the past,” Erhardt said. “That is all.”

“A very hurtful name.”

“We had our… differences...and I was glad to be rid of him. It does not make me particularly happy to think he is still around.”

_ Particularly since I know Werner should be dead.  I literally ripped his heart from his chest and burned his body. There is no way to come back from that. _

Ophilia reached up and gently touched his cheek. “You comfort and help so many people. Who comforts you?”

Erhardt smiled faintly. “The Institute takes care of own.”

Ophilia frowned at the non-answer, but it was then that the elevator arrived.

“I'll stay with you until we get you to your hotel room.  I'll meet you in the morning for the flight back to Noblecourt,” Erhardt said and pressed the button for her floor.

“I'd feel safer if you stayed with me. The room has two twin beds.”

Erhardt looked at Ophilia, surprised. “Miss Clement, you need not worry, but if that is what you want, then I shall.”

Ophilia's frown deepened.  “Do people ever ask what Sir Erhardt wants?”

Erhardt gave her a small smile and patted her cheek. “I charge more if they ask my opinion on anything.”

Ophilia's expression said she didn't believe him, but they lapsed into silence for the short amount of time it took for them to arrive at the floor.

“So...will you be staying with me?” Ophilia asked, her hand holding onto Erhardt's with surprising strength. 

“Yes.”

“Because I asked, or because you want to?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

“That is very sweet of you, Miss Clement,” Erhardt said gently. “You and I are both tired, so it is time to get you to sleep. Where is your room key?”

“Where are you staying?”

“In the room next to yours.”

“Then what does it matter if you move one room over?”

Erhardt sighed, recognizing a lost battle. “Let me gather my belongings, and I will be right over.”

Ophilia nodded and entered her room.

Erhardt swiped himself into his temporary residence and entered the darkness. He shoved what he would need for an overnight stay before heading back and knocking on Ophilia's door.

She opened it for him and he instinctively took a quick look around. It did have two beds, which was a relief. Otherwise, everything was organized and neat, some parts seeming barely touched. The door closed behind him as he put his bag down in front of the unoccupied bed.

“Sir Erhardt?”

“Yes?”

“ _ You _ called me beautiful today.”

Erhardt looked up from organizing and said, “I did.”

“And yet, you wanted nothing from me.”

“Of course,” Erhardt responded.

Ophilia shook her head. “Since I was 12, almost every man who has called me beautiful has wanted this body. It is not bad in Noblecourt, but other places...”

Erhardt’s posture softened and he carefully took Ophilia's hand in his. “I'm sorry you have had to go through that.”

“I've never kissed anyone. I've never felt comfortable enough around anyone to even change in a locker room or wear a bathing suit once I hit puberty. I...sometimes feel like my body is for other people, not me.”

Ophilia was silent for a moment before she said, “But now there is H'aanit, and I'm scared. I don't know my body and I can't even figure out how to  _ learn  _ it. Have you ever taught someone, Sir Erhardt, what it means to have a body?”

Erhardt nodded slowly. “We have some trainees who come in with the same issue. Usually it is a woman who teaches them about their bodies, and how they can receive pleasure from them.”

“Would you teach me?”

“...I would, yes,” Erhardt answered after a pause.

“Why? Just because I  _ asked _ ?”

“Partly yes and partly no. You...need the instruction, apparently, and I am flattered that you chose to ask me.”

_ I’m not sure how I can go about helping, but I will at least  _ try, Erhardt thought.

“I don't know a man I could trust to assist--Therion is like a brother, and Alfyn is dating Zeph. I'm not going to go to Prim or Tressa, because they have their own people to care about. I know you won’t hurt me. I know you'll actually teach me, treat me well.”

“I will. But, you  _ must _ trust me.”

“You are Leon's brother, many of my friends trust you, and Mr. Eisenberg cares for you. You come highly recommended. I trust you.”

Erhardt nodded slowly and ignored how his heart skipped a beat at Ophilia mentioning that little factoid about Olberic. “Do you want me to keep my clothes on or off?”

“You would keep them on?”

“Absolutely, if that would make you more comfortable.”

Ophilia was silent for a long moment before she said, “Is this what you get often from female clients?”

“The ones who book me for my carnal capabilities often do so because they don’t know how to experience pleasure, or they want to know what it feels like so they'll know if they have an inconsiderate or bad lover. Some want simple touch and I only ever have sex with them if they initiate. But, yes--in a world full of men looking for their own pleasure, I am a safe, if expensive, way for them to experience what sex could--and should--feel like.”

“And how would you teach me?”

“Well, have you ever touched yourself down there?”

Ophilia blushed bright red. “No.”

“Then that is where we shall start. A few other questions before we begin.”

“Yes?” 

“Do you want me to kiss you? And, do you want me to undress you?”

“I...yes, please. To both.”

“I want you to know that you can stop this at any time.”

“I understand.”

Erhardt walked over to Ophilia and gently slid his fingers under her chin. “This is meant for you, Ophilia. We will do as little or as much as you want.”

Ophilia nodded, them closed her eyes as Erhardt leaned down and carefully kissed her. It was a chaste, gentle contact, and that he kept it only that made some tension leave her shoulders. 

He pulled back, moved around her, and gently unzipped the back of her dress. He pushed it off her shoulders and guided it down her body before nudging her feet to step out of it. He folded it carelessly and set it aside, to find that Ophilia was rubbing her arms in a nervous gesture. 

He moved back to her front, then pulled her into a careful hug. He held her until she stopped shaking.

“Your cologne is quite nice,” she murmured into his shirt.

“I'm glad you approve,” Erhardt responded. “I'd like to take off  _ my  _ shirt before I remove your underwear. I’ll keep my pants on, I’d just like to be out of at least some of my formal wear.  Is that okay?”

“Yes,” she responded.

Erhardt made quick work of his vest, tie, and shirt, although took a moment to remove his shoes and socks as well before turning his attention back to Ophilia. Ophilia was watching him carefully, a strange mixture of curiosity and fear in her eyes.

“We don’t have to do this,” Erhardt pointed out.

Ophilia shook her head. “I'd like to know  _ something _ about my body before I try to...seduce H'aanit.”

Erhardt nodded. “Then I will help you learn in whatever way you want me to.”

He reached around Ophilia's body and carefully unclasped her bra before pulling it down and off her shoulders, tossing it onto her dress. Her panties were removed shortly as well, and Erhardt scooped her up into a carry before taking her over to the bed she had claimed.  He pulled down the covers and placed her carefully down on the mattress before climbing on the bed and settling with his back against the headboard. “Could you come here, Ophilia? Sit with your back against me.”

She hesitated for a second before complying, sitting so her back was flush to his chest. 

“I'm going to be using mostly your hands for this,” he said and gently covered hers with his. “I want you to feel your own body, not me touching it.”

“Okay,” she responded, her voice small.

His arms moved so that her palms rested above her breasts. “I'd like you to work your way down your torso. Start with exploring your breasts and nipples, since such can be sensitive.”

“Right,” she murmured. 

Erhardt whispered encouragement to her as her hands wandered her front, covered by his but guided by her will alone.  It took a  _ lot _ of work to keep his commentary from being too suggestive, but the way she shivered in his arms sometimes said that he wasn’t always successful.

Without his prompting, her hands drifted to her crotch and he pulled his away.

“Sir Erhardt?”

“I'm here,’’ he said. “But this part is yours alone.”

“Even though I've never even  _ contemplate _ d touching myself down there before?”

“This part isn’t about you getting off--well, unless you want to, which I fully support--it's about learning what everything feels like. I know the official names of everything and can explain, in part, how things work, so please ask questions.  A female escort would know things much better than I, but I suppose that intimate experience with that part of female anatomy has granted me some insight.”

“...okay.” 

Erhardt let's his hands rest lightly on Ophilia's stomach and focused on keeping his breathing even and calming.

_ I have no fucking clue what I'm doing,  _ he grumbled.  _ But I think all she really needed was safety and permission.  How many times did she want to ask questions, but kept her silence? _

Erhardt was purposely distracting himself by picking apart Mattais’ conversation to keep himself from becoming aroused, but his attention was drawn back to Ophilia when she let out a soft, surprised  _ meep _ .

“Something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” she said. “I felt this before around H'aanit, this warmth and wetness, and was a bit embarrassed. Was I peeing myself?”

Ophilis let her head fell back, and Erhardt looked down at her.

“But it’s not,” she continued.

“No, it isn’t.”

“This is because I physically  _ want _ her.”

“It is an indication of female arousal, yes.”

_ Well, okay, if it takes fantasizing about her girlfriend to get her to explore, so be it.  Glad to help. Gods, my life is weird sometimes. _

“Could you kiss me, Sir Erhardt?”

“It will be a bit awkward from this position, but, yes.”

It took a bit of maneuvering, and Ophilia actually giggled, but eventually Erhardt was kissing her, and was surprised at how she sought to return the kiss.

Erhardt slowly coaxed her and coached her until  _ she  _ broke the kiss, her breathing coming short and quick. 

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“You're welcome.”

She hesitated for a second before being the one to initiate another kiss.  Erhardt thoroughly approved of whenever he was able to give a client kissing practice, and Ophilia was a fast learner.  They exchanged kisses until she was flushed and giggly and Erhardt was  _ working _ to keep an erection down.

_ Offer a discount? _ A part of Erhardt said, which he ruthlessly smacked down.   _ Only if  _ she _ asks! _

She settled back against Erhardt again, who rested his chin on the top of her head. The scent of her arousal was much stronger, and she made what Erhardt would classify as  _ cute _ noises as she continued to explore herself. 

_ Well, not how I expected the night to end, but it could be a thousand times worse. And better, admittedly, but this is something I'll have to figure out a price for. _

Focusing on math and business also made it much easier to not be aroused and keep his hands on her stomach instead of reaching a little further down and--

_ Bad, Erhardt.  No _ , Erhardt scolded himself.   _ She is fully capable of doing things on her own and you are not crossing boundaries. _

Of course, that was when Ophilia said: “I’ve overheard Primrose and Tressa talking about...methods of pleasure.  Tressa even teased me once about taking me out  _ toy _ shopping since H’aanit and I are...may...become more than friends.”

“Would you like me to demonstrate one or more of those  _ methods _ ?” Erhardt asked softly.

Ophilia let out a long, shuddering sigh.  “Yes, please.”

_ Oh thank fuck, _ Erhardt thought.  “I’m sure you’ve at least  _ heard _ the word cunnilingus?”

“Y-yes, I have.”

“I would like to perform that on you.  Will you let me?”

_ First orgasm is free, _ Erhardt thought, removing that out of the mental calculation he was doing.

Ophilia made a soft, almost  _ pained _ sound before nodding.  “Yes. I would....I would like that very much.”

“May I touch your body?   _ Intimately _ ?”

“Yes.”

Erhardt let out an internal sigh of  _ relief _ .  He felt he had pretty good self-control, but after hearing how disassociated Ophilia felt from her body, her  _ pleasure _ , the fact that she asked Erhardt and then  _ agreed _ to allow him to be intimate with her made him almost giddy.

_ Time to demonstrate  _ why _ I’m still paid for sexual services.  _

For the moment, he stayed where he was, as he clearly recalled where on her body she had spent the most time, so made sure his hands strayed there and then slipped an arm through the gap between her torso and arm, carefully covered her hand with his own, and moved so that the tip of both his fingers--and hers--parted her labia and rested against the slick, warm entrance of her vagina.

“I’m going to explain what I’m going to do to you first so you know what you’re getting into,” Erhardt purred in her ear. 

Using their fingers, he walked through, in both touch and verbally, the general basics of what he was to do: clitoral stimulation--with a small teaser using their fingers.  A bit of manual stimulation in her vagina--again with a small demonstration. And how he planned to kiss a different set of lips as he delicately traced their folds. Ophilia was trembling in his arms by the time he was done, her breathing irregular.

“Would you like that?”

“Y-esss,” Ophilia hiccuped.  “ _ Please _ .”

"Then sit up so I can move."

Ophilia complied and Erhardt scooted out from behind her. He fought down a spike of sadness when he saw she was quietly crying and gently kissed away the tears, which made her lean into him and wrap her arms around him. 

"I can stop," he said and returned the embrace. 

She shook her head, her hair fluttering against his bare chest. "No, it’s n-not…" she took a deep breath. "It’s just  _ new _ and feels good and I…but, yes.  _ Please _ continue."

"You're sure?"

"Yes," she said firmly. " _ Yes _ , I'm sure. I w-want you to make my body  _ feel. _ "

"Then I will.  Lay down, close your eyes.  _ Trust _ me to know what I'm doing and just feel. Okay? Do let me know if you don’t like something, though."

Ophilia gave him a watery, genuine smile and said. "Okay."

She laid down and Erhardt crawled over her, bent down, and kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose, then her lips until she had her fingers in his hair, kissing back with  _ enthusiasm. _

When the kiss broke, Erhardt slowly trailed his lips, tongue, and hands down her body, following every curve, responding to her quick breaths and soft moans and quiet, half-intelligible whispers. 

He pushed her legs open a little, running his hands gently along the inside of her thighs. 

_ Check in time _ , he thought before speaking. "Ophilia?"

"Hm?"

"How are you feeling?"

" _ Very _ nice…"

"I'm going to touch you down here now. Do you still consent to that?"

Ophilia actually moaned softly. "Yes. I consent."

"Thank you," Erhardt murmured and placed a gentle kiss on the inside of her thigh.

Erhardt had a habit of just  _ carrying _ condoms in his back pockets, which meant he found  _ a lot _ in the wash, but it was better to be prepared in general. He usually carried lubricated with spermicide when going out with a female client, but was glad that he had grabbed one at random and it  _ wasn’t _ . He didn’t like DIY dental dams, but it was better than nothing and he made as quick work of it as possible before getting to work.

Erhardt relished the sounds Ophilia  made as he pleasured her--he always appreciated a vocal client. She liked having his fingers explore her internally and her sharp cry of surprise when he had begun to tend to her clit was gratifying.  When her fingers found their way into Erhardt's hair and began to make pointed, non-verbal demands of him, Erhardt was more than happy to comply, letting her guide her own pleasure.

He nonetheless yanked her back and forth, from the edge of orgasm and to the brink again until she was nearly crying with sexual frustration. So, when she finally  _ did _ come, all she could make was a breathless whine, her entire body convulsing under the sensation. 

Erhardt pulled back and admired his handiwork. Ophilia looked absolutely  _ wrecked _ , her hair stuck to her face and neck, her breathing heavy and fast, and he was pretty sure he saw a few strands of his hair intertwined in her fingers. Her eyes were shut, her face flushed, and she was breathtakingly beautiful. Erhardt stretched out beside her and pulled her into a delicate hug. 

"You doing okay?" Erhardt asked.

Ophilia hummed absently and opened her eyes. "Thank you."

Erhardt gently kissed her forehead and said, “You’re more than welcome.  Trust me when I say that it was my pleasure to pleasure you.”

Ophilia giggled.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, GemmiElf, about locking Olberic and Erhardt in a room to hash things out between them...
> 
> Additionally: Nothing Octopath Traveler belongs to me.

The only reason Erhardt managed to sleep at all the night before his ‘appointment’ with Olberic was that he had requested that his personal trainer work him hard enough that  _ not _ sleeping was an impossibility.

That he still woke up hard and needy didn’t bode well for the rest of the morning.

“Maybe I can convince Olberic to have sex with me?” Erhardt groaned into his pillow.  “After we talk, of course. Maybe make-up sex? I’ll float the idea. He fucking  _ flirted _ with me, so I doubt he wouldn’t be up for it, metaphorically and hopefully literally, but…we really should deal with our unresolved issues in a different, less fun adult manner.”

Erhardt dragged himself out of bed and took care of himself in the bathroom, because clean-up was a great deal easier there and he didn’t think that he could seduce Olberic into a bed that  _ already _ smelled of sex. He had made sure that the sheets had been changed  _ again _ even though he hadn’t had a client in his loft for a while to avoid that potential discomfort and turn-off.

Erhardt had offered to meet Olberic in his (Erhardt's) midtown loft, since it was private, but also business-related, and Olberic had agreed.   Erhardt was nowhere near ready to let Olberic into his  _ home _ , and the other two properties Erhardt owned were out of the question.

The loft was a large, mildly ostentatious affair, settled just a few floors down from the penthouse suite of an exclusive apartment building. He had had some construction done on the loft, to the displeasure of the management company, but he had wanted a dedicated bedroom--the open space was lovely, but there was something to be said for  _ privacy _ in his profession.  The expansive bedroom had a double-king bed, and the attached bathroom had a bathtub that was large enough for two while also sporting jacuzzi capabilities. 

The living room had a massive TV attached to one wall with a state-of-the-art sound system. Tasteful, inoffensive paintings were peppered on the other walls, which were painted a light cream color. The furniture was all fine leather, and the lighting was embedded in the ceiling. The end tables were all  _ just _ large enough to accommodate a person sitting on them in case a client decided to forgo the bedroom for something less conventional. The dining furniture was all dark, polished mahogany, and a deep red table-runner lengthwise along the mid-line of the table with a flower arrangement in the center. Erhardt had ensured that the chairs were all comfortable and functional as well aesthetically pleasing. The flooring was wood, if only because spills were cleaned far more easily on wood than carpet, although plush area rugs were scattered about, all dark colors. Large windows let in a deluge of light, although it was tempered by curtains that Erhardt could adjust as he saw fit.

The kitchen was all bright silver and matte black, the appliances as new as Erhardt cared for them to be for the sake of appearances. The cabinets were only lightly stocked with non-perishable food--if he needed anything more, it tended to be delivered the day of the appointment. The dishes were fine china, and the glassware was crystal.

Erhardt also had had an ‘office’ constructed, but it was really a room meant to hide where the washer/dryer unit was. He kept a few pieces of furniture in the room as well--bookshelves filled with various erotic literature, a cabinet held his alcohol selection, and a chest contained particular tools of his trade, all separated into specific compartments, depending on what was fluid-bonded to whom. An executive desk and chair dominated the area, but they were mostly decoration--Erhardt kept absolutely nothing vital in the midtown loft. Everything was meant to impress and seduce; it had no real life to it.

Erhardt took a  _ long _ bath because he needed to be as relaxed as possible to deal with what was probably going to be an emotionally charged situation, and aromatherapy bath salts made both him and the bathroom smell nice. 

_ This is stupid.  _ I'm _ being stupid _ , he thought, annoyed, as he dried himself off, and e ven though there really was no  _ point _ to it, Erhardt agonized over his clothing until he settled on an outfit that he was comfortable with.  

_ Perhaps it is an armor of sorts _ , he mused. 

Once upon a time, a client had commented how Erhardt's bright hair contrasted so well with darker colors, which Erhardt agreed with. However, he also  _ strongly _ favored red and wore it whenever he could. Red was the color of passion.

_ And anger. And love. And blood,  _ Erhardt thought as he pulled out the clothing from his closet. 

Erhardt felt that as understated and slightly casual as he could manage when nervous--he always over-dressed when nervous--would be best with Olberic, so chose plain black slacks, a black vest with red satin highlights, white dress shirt, and a diamond-patterned red/white/gold tie. He couldn't keep himself from putting on a pair of drop ruby earrings and two rings set with diamonds and rubies, one on each hand, and an unadorned, gold chain necklace was tucked beneath his shirt--but that was more for luck and comfort. 

He examined his appearance in his floor-length mirror and caught himself debating the merits of makeup and extra effort on his hair, and promptly tossed both aside. He braided his hair, tied it off with a red ribbon, and left his face undone.  

_ Olberic won't care,  _ he decided.  _ Gods, what am I doing? It  _ probably _ won't be as bad as I am fearing.  _

There was a brisk, polite knock on Erhardt’s door, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.  Erhardt smoothed his hair down, straightened his shirt, then walked to the door and opened it.

Olberic was, indeed, standing on the other side, appearing distinctly ill at ease.

Olberic was more formal and presentable than Erhardt remembered him usually dressing, which was pleasing--it was nice to know Olberic was just as nervous. A pair of khaki slacks and a dark blue, long-sleeve, button-down shirt was a simple outfit, but the quality of the cloth and cut were above-average, and everything fit sinfully well. He wore a black leather jacket, which was unzipped, and Erhardt could see the glitter of keys dangling out of one pocket. 

The shirt smelled a little bit like fabric softener, which said it wasn't a piece of clothing that Olberic wore extensively. Still, it wasn't blue jeans and a t-shirt, and that was what was important. That and the fact that the wedding band was gone from Olberic's finger.

Olberic's hair was pleasantly tousled, which was probably a result of nerves more than a deliberate choice. Erhardt had a brief, sharp desire to run his own fingers through Olberic's hair and--

“Come in,” Erhardt said and stepped aside.

Olberic did so, and looked around as he reflexively took his coat off and folded it over his arm.  

Leon had once commented that Erhardt was always watching, and it was only because of how closely Erhardt was watching Olberic that he could see that, somewhere in the past eight years, Olberic had learned suspicion.  The way his eyes flicked across the room said he was cataloging  _ something _ about it, although Erhardt was curious as to exactly what. Erhardt worked hard to make sure that nothing screamed  _ danger _ in his homes.

Olberic turned to face him as Erhardt closed and locked the door. 

“Your apartment is quite nice,” Olberic said. “The view is certainly breathtaking.”

Erhardt snorted inwardly.  _ ‘Quite nice’ he says. _

A momentary flicker of  _ something  _ crossed Olberic's face before he said, "I know it is a while ago now, but I apologize for drunk-texting you.  Cyrus had forgotten to take my cell phone away that night, although I strongly suspect that it was deliberate."

Erhardt laughed. "I didn't mind, Olberic."

"When you still texted me regardless, I knew you didn't, but, still. I felt I should apologize for being so… forward."

"I fully intend to take you to Balogar's, you know, once I figure out a time that works for all of us."

"You really don't have to…" Olberic murmured. 

Erhardt would have sworn that the lightest of blushes colored Olberic's cheeks, as Erhardt clearly remembered just how brazen the flirt a few lines further down in the conversation had been.  

"I know," Erhardt said, not quite able to keep a flirty-purr out of his voice.  "But I think it would be rather  _fun_."

The air between them was momentarily strange before Olberic cleared his throat and said, "We have a great deal to discuss."

"We do," Erhardt agreed. "Do you want to discuss matters out here, or in my office?"

“Out here would be preferred,” Olberic said. “The furniture is likely more comfortable.”

“That it is,” Erhardt agreed.  _ For many different activities.  _

Olberic wandered over to the largest couch, sat down, then looked over his shoulder and said, “Will you sit with me?”

Erhardt was 97% sure that Olberic didn't intend the slight, almost  _ co _ _y_ tone in his voice, so Erhardt walked over and took a seat with enough space between them that he could metaphorically sit on his hands while also close enough to show that he really was interested. He took a deep breath and said, “While I like having you here and want to just  _ talk _ …”

_ And maybe fuck? _

_ Not helpful! _

“You want to clear the air,” Olberic finished. “I know. I've been trying to think of the right things to say since we agreed to this meeting.”

“When I saw you in person last, I said something along the lines of 8 years being too long to cover in a short walk," Erhardt said. "Maybe we can start there?”

Olberic nodded, but his gaze was focused on the scenery outside the window, old, familiar pain in the set of his shoulders. “I suppose so.” 

“I can go first,” Erhardt offered. 

Olberic shook his head slowly. “This is going to sound petty, mean and, frankly, childish, but you should know…”

“The damage I did,” Erhardt finished for him, his voice soft.

Olberic ran his fingers through his hair.  "I was… in a truly bad way after our breakup. The things you said had, perhaps, more impact than you thought they would, since many hit close to things I had heard during my childhood. I had trusted you, loved you, and you turned out to feel the exact same way as everyone else I had ever cared for.  I had hoped things would be  _ different _ , but I have never had good luck with...relationships." 

Olberic paused before continuing.  "I spent two years deeply depressed. One of those years was when I moved all over Osterra and made enough poor life choices that I'm astonished I'm alive and that I was  _ honorably  _ discharged from the Army. During that time, I tried to convince myself that I hated you; on my darker nights, I fantasized about how much  _ better _ my life would have been without you in it.  But, I couldn’t hate you because, I suppose, I had expected something to happen.  For you to betray me. Hurt me.”

Olberic’s expression turned sad.  “The other year I spent in Hornburg in the care of family who tolerated me enough to not want me to ruin their remaining reputation. The therapy I underwent was intense and I flirted with hospitalization more than once, but I came out the other side more or less intact. My family kicked me out once they saw that I was in a  better place. I left Hornburg again, settled in Victor's Hollow, and signed on to the Osterran National Guard, since the Army didn’t want me back."

Olberic fell silent, his gaze focused inward. When it seemed like he was too lost in memories to speak, Erhardt did.

“I can’t tell you how I felt after...after I hurt you,” Erhardt admitted.  “I was glad you were gone, but, at the same time, hated myself for what I had done.  In order to _bury_ those feelings, I focused _entirely_ on becoming the most desired and highly paid escort in Osterra.  I drowned myself in other people so I could forget you and what I did to you.  I pulled _insane_ hours, took almost any client, any job.  I needed to advertise myself, my skills, and to do that I couldn’t afford to be too picky initially.  The Institute forced me to take  _vacations_ every now and then, although they had to confiscate my phone so I didn’t pick up minor sexting jobs, video chat, or phone sex.  For many years, it was easier to deal with other people’s emotions than my own.”  
  
Erhardt sighed.  “I am lucky that I had friends like Gustav.  Gaston. Odette. Primrose, even, to an extent.  Leon helped me more than I think he knows. I’m not sure that  I’d even be here if they hadn’t been watching out for my health and sanity.  Odette actually once handcuffed me to a bed to make sure I got some sleep outside of the times I was sharing someone’s else’s bed.”  Erhardt laughed softly. “I can’t fathom how they _tolerated_ me back then.”

“I...made a few friends in the Guard, although I’m not sure  _ how, _ given how cagey I was and how little I spoke,” Olberic said.  “Victorino, Archibold, Wallace, Bernhard...and Ned. I’ve kept in touch with a few of them, and we sometimes meet up for drinks or to watch a game together.”

_ What was that hesitation for? _ Erhardt wondered.  “That must be fun.”

“It is,” Olberic said.

A long, uncomfortable silence drew out between them before Erhardt spoke again: "I’m sorry, Olberic.”

“Truly?” Olberic asked, sounding almost  _ exhausted _ .  “Are you  _ really _ sorry? Or are you just saying that because it’s what you think  _ I _ want to hear?”

“What can I say to make you believe me?” Erhardt replied.  “I  _ mean _ it, Olberic.  I’m sorry. I meant to hurt you, I meant to drive you away from me for good and have you look at me only with contempt.  I didn’t mean for it to affect you in any way other than by sabotaging  _ our  _ relationship.”

“You make your living off of your words, off of flattery and seduction, and you didn’t take a  _ second _ to consider just how much your opinion--and therefore your words--mattered to me?”

“I don’t...I don't know how I can make things up to you,” Erhardt sighed. “But I want to try. I want you to know that I lied back then, that I meant absolutely none of what I said. I can’t go back and unsay those words and undo the hurt, but I do want to try to make amends _somehow_. I'd like to be your friend again and, hopefully, something more, because I still  _ ache  _ for you.  Our relationship...it was never about practice or perfecting my abilities.  It was only and ever about  _ you _ .  I worked very hard--literally and figuratively--to forget you, Olberic, but the moment you come into my life again, you’re the only thing I can think about.”

Olberic laughed, the sound soft and bitter.  “I...understand that. The last thing I ever expected was to find you standing inside the cafe.  Gods, you always look so damn attractive, even when you put almost no effort into it. I should have felt angry when I saw you, but the thing I felt, above everything else, was  _ happiness. _   I was genuinely happy to see you again. ‘It’s been too long,’ was my first thought before I was reminded of  _ why _ it had been so long from the stunned look on your face.  I thought...I thought that I had worked out all my issues regarding you. Gods, how wrong I was. ”

"If it makes you feel any better, one of my thoughts after an 'oh shit' was how hot you are. Grey looks good on you."

Olberic snorted at that.  After a small pause, he continued: “You asked me about Theo when I walked you to the subway.” 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Erhardt replied.  

Olberic shook his head slowly.  “Theo is too large a part of these past few years for you to  _ not _ know about him.  Theo was--is, I suppose--my son. During my time in the Guard, I met a man named Ned.  He and his wife Cecily had a two year old boy, and being a father was the only thing Ned could talk about outside of work.  I had never seen so many baby pictures in my life, nor someone so  _ happy _ at having a child.  However, he was going to be deployed by the Guard and I, due to my history, was more-or-less forced to stay local. He made me...he made me promise that I would take care of Cecily and Theo in the case that he didn’t return, since where he was being deployed to wasn’t particularly  _ safe _ .  I was just as good friends with Cecily as with him, and she agreed to the arrangement.”

After a deep breath, Olberic continued: “When Theo was three, Cecily received the news  every military spouse dreads; Ned had died in combat, and there was no body to recover. So, I did what I had promised to do--I married Cecily.  I had helped her out as much as she let me while Ned was away as it was, so Theo already was comfortable with me.”

A soft smile formed on Olberic’s face that tugged at Erhardt’s heart, but the expression quickly faded.  “It was harrowing, helping to raise him, but worthwhile. I…I loved being a father,  _ his _ father.  But, then, it turned out that Ned  _ wasn’t _ dead.  Instead, he had been captured during the fight that purportedly claimed his life.  It took him three years to escape, but when he came back…well, Cecily and Ned were meant for each other.  She cared for me and I for her and we made good  _ partners _ , but not a good couple.  She deserved more than I could give her.  I...didn’t want to give up Theo, though. Signing the divorce papers was  _ agonizing _ .  I see Theo on most major holidays, but it doesn’t feel...right, I suppose.  I know it’s stupid. I know that it’s normal and  _ healthy _ for divorced fathers stay in their child’s life, but I suppose I carry too much baggage from my own childhood to see it that way.”

“I’m sure Theo appreciates each time he sees you,” Erhardt said softly.  

“I know,”  Olberic said.  “I  _ know _ .  But..”

Erhardt  _ knew _ he was taking a chance.  “But?”

“How much do we really know about each other, Erhardt?” Olberic asked softly.  “The fact that you _don’t know_ _why_ there is a but…I feel that we only ever knew each other on the surface.  I never told you so much about myself because you never asked, and I feared that if you _knew,_ you’d leave me.  With you, I was finally...finally starting to believe that maybe I had found someone I could trust, who I could hand my heart and my history to and not worry about them using it against me.  And then you wrung my hear out anyway.”

Olberic swallowed hard before he continued.  “When you...when you told me that you saw me as practice, it didn’t feel too far-fetched.  There were already many, tiny ways that you treated me like a client anyway. ‘Don’t push too hard, don’t ask awkward questions, don’t do anything to upset him.’  This is going to sound...juvenile, I suppose, but, back then...did you  _ actually  _ love me?”

Erhardt reached out and carefully, gently pushed a stray strand of hair out of Olberic’s eyes and tucked it behind his ear before letting his fingers rest gently on the junction of Olberic’s ear and jaw.  “Yes, I did. I loved you. I loved you _  so much _ that it was terrifying.  I...didn't know what to do with the intensity of what I felt for you. I found myself seriously considering asking you to marry me, and the fear I felt at that thought, that longing, was paralyzing.  I’m so,  _ so _ sorry about what I did to you because I was scared.”

Olberic looked  thunderstruck at Erhardt's admission .  “You were...you were going to ask me to  _ marry you _ ?”

Erhardt nodded as he looked away and let his hand fall; he was only partly surprised when Olberic caught and held it.  “Yes. But, I saw the agony and despair that came from entrusting a heart to something as fragile and breakable as another human. I heard stories from the other escorts, warnings that even though love was wonderful, beautiful, almost  _ sacred _ ,  it wasn't something to be truly entertained until retirement, due to how rarely it worked out when still an active escort. I saw the pain in the eyes  of those who pursued it and had everything fall apart due to a partner’s jealousy, the stresses associated with their job...any number of things. After losing my parents, my home, and, quite nearly, my brother, I couldn't afford to lose my heart, too.  Loneliness was better than being broken."

Erhardt looked at Olberic.  "So, I had to make you hate me, push you away so hard that you'd never want anything to do with me again. It was selfish and stupid and I can't...ever make things fully right between us. Can't make up for the years you lost because of me.  But, I’d like to try."

“And you didn’t...why didn’t you just  _ say _ that you were scared?” Olberic asked.

“I couldn’t admit it to you!  I...I couldn’t,” Erhardt said, his voice dropping to a whisper.  “My parents died when I was ten--Leon was five. My aunt and cousins died when I was 13, my uncle when I was 14.  No other family members wanted me and Leon after that, so I’ve...I’ve had to be accountable and strong and keep all the  _ fear _ inside since I was 15.  Leon was only  _ ten _ when we were suddenly on our own.  Admitting that I was scared was... _ unthinkable _ .  What would I have said to you anyway?”  

“Something!  Anything!" Olberic said, his hand tightening on Erhardt’s.  "I  _ loved _ you, Erhardt.  Why couldn’t you...why didn’t you trust me?”

“Maybe for the same reason  _ you _ didn’t trust  _ me _ ?  Maybe because  _ trust _ so often ends in pain.  I trusted Werner, and he would consistently threaten to sell Leon to the Black Market at Wellspring if I didn’t bring in enough money for him--I did  _ anything _ he asked to make sure Leon stayed safe.  My uncle blamed  _ me _ for the death of his wife and children because  _ why not _ when I had trusted my aunt and her family, which included him, to care for Leon and I.  We trusted the government to protect us because our dad had worked in the upper echelon, but when insurgents attacked us  _ in our home _ , they did nothing except find extended family to shuttle us off to! What kept  _ you _ from trusting  _ me, _ Olberic?  You’re an  _ Eisenberg _ .  You were born into power, wealth, prestige.  What hardship could you have  _ possibly _ faced?”

An odd mixture of pain and anger flickered across Olberic's face. “Plenty. What the Eisenbergs had hoped was a happy accident ended up killing their mother, wife, daughter. It wasn't my fault, I know that now, but back then they hated me, blamed me, so I hated them back,” Olberic snapped. “I was five, maybe four, the first time Nikolai told me I was a mistake and that  _ I should have died _ instead of his mother. He was...10, I think. His grandmother said that the reason I was so healthy and strong was because I had stolen her daughter's life for my own.” 

“ _ What _ ?” Erhardt half-exclaimed, horrified.

“I also look...different. I was physical proof that the rumors of infidelity were true. However, there was no doubting my mother's identity, so they were stuck with me.  I was an open secret, a painfully visible shame. I inspired pity in some extended family, but I wasn't their problem, so they could feel that as long as they didn't say anything. I was...never really anything to anyone.  Then, there was the revolution and…” Olberic almost  _ glared _ at Erhardt.  “I know survivor’s guilt, too, Erhardt.”

Anger, life-long pain, and grief hung heavy in the air, but Olberic’s hold on Erhardt’s hand was gentle.  

“This is...this is why we failed so spectacularly  the first time,” Erhardt eventually said as he focused on their hands.  “We...both wanted to trust, to take a chance that there was something  _ more _ , but we were anticipating abandonment and pain. I didn't…back then, I think that I didn't believe that I actually  _ deserved _ love. I was convinced that I was unlovable. A part of me still harbors those feelings. What I did to survive when I was younger…"  Erhardt shook his head. “Was what we felt for each other  _ really _ love if there was so much fear?”

“And is it going to play out the same way should we...try again?” Olberic added.  “Already, there is fear of being hurt. Of hurting you. It’s better to...not try, isn’t it?  To not leave myself--or you--open to that kind of agony.”

“But living in fear is  _ exhausting _ ,” Erhardt murmured and cautiously moved his hand so he was clasping Olberic’s back.  “I don’t want to anymore.”

“Neither do I.”

“So, would you be willing to give me another chance?” Erhardt asked tentatively, catching Olberic’s eyes.  “Maybe even give  _ us _ another chance?”

"What would that look like,  Erhardt? I'm tired of being an afterthought.  I want to be a  _ priority,"  _ Olberic said, his voice soft and sad _. _ "You are one of the most sought-after men in Osterra, if not  _ the _ most.  Your time is your livelihood, and your time is always in demand.  Who am I to ask that you give  _ any _ up for me?”

“Because you’re  _ worth _ it.  I can always charge more, or change how I live to accommodate a decreased income.  Money is important, but...it’s taken me 3 years of basically  _ recovery _ to realize that people are just as important, if not more so, than money.  I will...I  _ will  _ make you a priority.  Because you should be.”

An old, clearly familiar pain settled on Olberic’s features.  “That would be nice. But pretty words from a pretty man mean little. Why should I believe you?”

It stung, hearing that, and Erhardt felt more than a little annoyed.

_ Why won’t he just  _ believe _ me? _

_ Maybe because you have told him that you loved him at one time and hated him during another, and that everything he believed to be true was actually a lie in multiple ways on multiple occasions? _ a more cynical and realistic part of him pointed out.

_ Olberic is a man of actions, not words, _ Erhardt reminded himself before he spoke: “Starting next month, I’ll change my hours.”

“What?” Olberic asked, clearly confused.

“I’ll change my hours.  Nothing before 2PM. Overnight books end at 8AM sharp.  I’ll still have things to do--I can market my marketing business, odd as that sounds, or do some work for the Institute--but from 8AM to 2PM, I am always and only yours, should you want me.”

Olberic looked stunned.  “You--what?” he asked, almost laughing in disbelief.

“I can move it to 9AM to 5PM, if you’d prefer.  I never had a lot of lunch meetings or theatre matinee tickets.  The whole normal workday will be yours Monday through Friday, if you want.”

“You  _ do _ need time to sleep and do things for yourself,” Olberic said slowly.

“And I will,” Erhardt responded.  “You have a job yourself running a small business--the back end of a small business, which is the harder of the two.  Trust me, I know just how frustrating and tedious tax forms, billing, and payments can be.”

Olberic actually smiled a little bit.  “I’m glad that I can help Cyrus out. The man is brilliant, but occasionally lacks common sense.”  

Erhardt struggled with himself, then sighed and said: “I also promise that I won’t ask you for or try to initiate sex. I’ll even try to not bother you about  _ kisses. _ ”  A part of him died at saying that, because he  _ wanted _ to have sex with Olberic very, very badly.  “At least, not until you indicate that you’re all for it.”

Olberic smiled faintly, and Erhardt’s palms tingled at the warmth in Olberic’s eyes.

“I’ve dreamt of kissing you since I saw you in the bookstore’s office,” Olberic said.  “But I told myself over and over again that I couldn’t. That I didn’t know you. That I didn’t want to be making out with a memory, as it were.  But, then we started texting and I was reminded...of what attracted me to you in the first place.”

Erhardt was working  _ hard _ to keep his breathing even.  Olberic was jerking his emotions all over the place casually and Erhardt didn’t know what to do.

_ Please ask me to make out with you.  Please,  _ please _ , do that. _

“I die a little each time you flirt with me,” Erhardt replied.  “I’m never sure if I can flirt back, so try not to. But, I want you to know that I still find you  _ wildly _ attractive and that...and that knowing what you’ve told me of your past actually makes me want you more.  Because you survived a childhood where you were told you should be  _ dead _ , and you’ve still found it in you to care for another.”

“And I want  _ you _ to know that you’re safe with me,” Olberic murmured and Erhardt’s skin prickled when Olberic pressed a light kiss to his knuckles.  “You don’t have to fear me or anyone else. I happen to have graduated Winnehild War Academy at the top of my class, so I do know what I’m doing in a fight.”

“Winnehild?” Erhardt repeated, the wind almost knocked out of him.  “Near Riverford?”

“Yes.”

“I...worked...in Riverford until I was nineteen.  Werner was from there and…students and faculty from Winnehild were some of my most frequent  _ customers. _ ”  

The two stared at each other and Olberic slowly said, “Was your hair always long?”

“No,” Erhardt replied, mildly confused by the question.  “Werner wanted me to look younger than I was, less mature, more androgynous, so I mostly kept my hair short.”

After another long pause, Olberic choked out, “ _ Bullshit. _ ”

“What?”

“On Broad Street and Chestnut Ave.  It was...spring? We were out for a week-long break and I had no home to return to, so I stayed in the Academy and spent a lot of time aimlessly wandering Riverford.  One night, I was pleasantly drunk and it was fairly late, but when I saw a beautiful young man being harassed by a few of my fellow students, I couldn’t help but step in.  He and my wallet were gone by the time I finished trouncing the others, however.”

Shock made Erhardt tense.  “It was a Tuesday night, always the slowest.  I hadn’t managed to find a customer yet, and was getting desperate.  Three students from the Academy were drunk and one had leered in my direction, so I took a chance, which backfired.  They were, apparently, of the mindset of the rest of the town--kill any prostitute to maintain the moral integrity of the city.  I stood no chance if they really wanted to make a ‘lesson’ of me. But then this sheer  _ mountain _ of a male student appeared and proceeded to cheerfully grind them into the dirt.  I didn’t want to find out  _ why _ , and his wallet was sticking out of his back pocket, an easy grab.  I bolted and claimed that I had gotten the wallet off a customer. You carried a  _ lot _ of money for a student.”  

“It  _ can’t _ be,” Olberic said. “What are the odds that we would meet again?”

“I don’t know, but I imagine vanishingly slim.”

“I’m glad I rescued you.”

“I am, too.”

The silence that fell that was oddly comfortable, so Erhardt decided to roll the dice.

“May I kiss you?” he asked.  “As thanks for back then.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t bother me about kisses.”

“I said I’d  _ try _ .”

The tension that bloomed between them was  _ quite _ different and Erhardt barely kept himself from shivering.

_ Please, gods, be kind to me this one time, _ Erhardt prayed.  

“Would you...let me hold you?” Olberic asked, to Erhardt’s sharp disappointment.  

_Still, it’s something_ , Erhardt decided.

“Absolutely,” Erhardt responded.  He started to close the small distance between them, but yelled in surprise when Olberic just grabbed him and pulled Erhardt to him and down on top of him as Olberic stretched out on the plush couch.  

Erhardt was settled neatly between Olberic’s legs, and he had barely caught himself, so his hands were palm-down on either side of Olberic’s head and pressing into the cushion of the armrest.  One of Olberic’s hands was resting firmly on the small of Erhardt’s back, pressing their hips together, and Erhardt had to remind himself to keep breathing from how Olberic was _looking_ at him.  

“ _ Now _ you may kiss me,” Olberic said, his voice a low, dark purr that did  _ awful _ things to Erhardt as he carefully brushed some of Erhardt’s hair out of the way.

Erhardt slowly, carefully shifted until could comfortably press his lips to Olberic’s.  It was chaste, gentle contact, but it washed away all the tension from Erhardt’s body. A tiny wave of giddiness rolled through him when Olberic returned the kiss, and Erhardt barely kept himself from moaning in appreciation.

Their kiss was a slow, languid re-learning of lips he had never really forgotten, and it left Erhardt happily tingling once it broke.  Then he was pulled into another kiss, and another after that, until he was drowning in Olberic’s presence, his kisses, his scent and physicality, and it felt  _ magnificent _ .  The kisses were everything he wanted, everything he needed, and happy bubbles rose and burst in him. He couldn’t help but laugh quietly once they stopped to regain  _ some _ of their breath.  For the first time in what felt like  _ ages _ , he felt genuinely happy.

Then Olberic was laughing, too, and all the pain, all the memories that they had dredged up and spoken, revealed and learned, settled and solidified inside Erhardt.  The knowledge had edges and shadows, and he knew they had only scratched the surface of their individual trauma, but it was at least a  _ foundation _ more solid than the last time they had tried.  

Once Erhardt was happily kiss-drunk, he scooted down and shifted until he was lying against Olberic fully, chest-to-chest, his head tucked neatly beneath Olberic’s chin.  Olberic moved so he could wrap both his arms around Erhardt, and Erhardt smiled into the skin of Olberic’s neck. He had forgotten how nice it felt to be  _ held _ by someone and to be the one feeling helpless and small.  So often, even for his physically larger clients, Erhardt had known that he was the one providing comfort and safety, not the other way around.  

Erhardt’s haywire emotions settled at the strength of Olberic’s body and he let out a long, slow, heavy sigh.  Dealing with complicated emotions was difficult and exhausting.  

Olberic lightly stroked Erhardt's head, neck, and shoulders, and Erhardt found himself relaxing under the touch.   The steady rise and fall of Olberic’s chest was soothing, as was, oddly enough, how unyielding his body was. There was a kind of security in the musculature that Erhardt could feel even through their clothes.  Olberic’s body was always, for some reason, slightly cooler, which Erhardt appreciated, as he tended to run hot. Erhardt found it progressively harder to keep his eyes open, and tried to mentally shake himself awake.  

“Olberic?”

“Sh,” Olberic hushed him.  “No words for now.”

“But if I don’t talk, I’m going to fall asleep.”

“Then fall asleep.  I won’t let you go.”

Erhardt abruptly had to bite back tears.  

_ This is stupid.  We argued and revealed some pretty deep trauma and then made out and gods  _ damn _ he’s a good kisser and now he’s holding me and it feels wonderful and what he said can be interpreted in so many different ways that I don’t know what to feel or think or do and how is this my life? _

“Promise?” Erhardt said aloud.

“We still have a lot to learn about each other and many more difficult conversations ahead of us, but if you are willing to try, I am, too.  I haven’t felt this...calm...in years. Thank you for agreeing to this--to  _ all _ of this.”

“I think I missed you more than I want to admit,” Erhardt said.  He couldn’t  _ entirely _ help himself, and pressed a gentle kiss to Olberic’s neck before snuggling a little more against Olberic.

Erhardt felt one of Olberic’s hands rest on his lower back as the other continued to idly stroke his hair, and Erhardt didn’t stop his smile as he gave up on wakefulness and closed his eyes.  He just hoped he’d hear the phone alarm he had set. He had had a feeling that after an emotionally charged meeting he’d need a nap; he just hadn’t thought he’d be using Olberic’s body as a mattress.  


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing to say aside from Octopath Traveler does not belong to me.

Erhardt felt something nudging him, but he was comfortable and drowsy and it would probably go away if he ignored it long enough.  He thought he heard his alarm going off, but it was faint and distant, so he was probably overhearing someone elses'.  

He was almost fully asleep again when someone  _ tickled _ him, which brought him immediately awake, an involuntary laugh escaping him as he tried to curl away from the sensation.  However, he was caught and held tight before he could fall off the couch, although him clinging to the leather of the back of the furniture also helped to steady him.  He was leveraged back onto his stomach, and there was a moment of disorientation as he looked down at an  _ extremely  _ smug Olberic.  

Erhardt shook his head to clear it of the remaining cobwebs of sleep as their situation came back to him:  their argument, their confessions, their quasi-reconciliation, their  _ extremely _ hot make-out session, and the lovely feeling of being  _ held _ .

“You’re an asshole,” Erhardt hissed as he sat back and away from Olberic, who pushed himself up to resting on his elbows.  

“You weren’t waking up, and your phone alarm is annoying,” Olberic said as Erhardt swung his feet onto the floor and stood.  

“That’s  _ intentional _ ,” Erhardt responded and walked into his bedroom.  He had no idea how Olberic had heard it in the first place, but as Olberic had been in the military  _ and  _ a father, perhaps it wasn’t too strange.  He swiped the alarm off and sighed at the time.

_ Well, I’m at least mostly ready, although I do need new pants and shirt.  I don’t like sleeping in my normal clothes, and these are wrinkled now.  _

“Where did you  _ find _ that alarm tone?” Olberic asked from the doorway.  “It could wake the dead through the sheer desire to shut it off.”

“I honestly don’t remember,” Erhardt said after opening the door to his walk-in closet.  “But I’m glad I found it.”

Erhardt rifled through the hangers in his closet to find a more casual button down and a relaxed pair of jeans.  Leon would  _ comment _ if Erhardt arrived in dress slacks and shirt and with as much jewelry as he was wearing.  

“Do you really need this many clothes?” Olberic asked as he examined the shirt closest to him.

“Yes, I do,” Erhardt responded as he found an appropriate pair of fashionably and strategically acid-washed jeans.  “Hold these for me.”

Olberic took the pants and folded them over his arm.  Erhardt unlocked a safe and tucked away his rings and necklace after taking off his shirt, vest, and tie.  He was keeping the earrings, though--they were understated enough, and Leon would  _ also _ notice if he wore no jewelry at all.  The shirt was dumped into a covert laundry bin and, a little more effort later, he emerged with a short-sleeved, relaxed button-down sporting a striped pattern. 

He put on the shirt, decided to forgo the vest, turned, and extended his hand to Olberic in a silent request for the jeans.  

Olberic handed them over, a small, amused smile playing on his face.  

Erhardt changed out of the dress slacks and into the jeans, nose wrinkling slightly at the texture.  He knew  _ why _ people wore jeans, he just didn’t favor them himself.  He smoothed out his shirt, then made to leave; however, Olberic was quite effectively blocking the doorway, and the way he was  _ looking _ at Erhardt made him shiver.  

_ I can be a little late, _ he thought.  _ I said I wouldn’t ask him for sex, but if kisses organically lead to something more, I would be down for that.  So,  _ so _ down for that.  Still, I have to be  _ considerate _ and I wouldn’t be able to stop after just  _ one _ taste... _

“Can you move?” Erhardt asked.  “I don’t want to be late for my meeting with Leon.”

Olberic nodded and moved out of the doorway.  “Of course.”

The way Olberic almost  _ purred _ those two words did bad things to Erhardt’s body, but he had enough experience in conquering arousal that it wasn’t terribly hard to shove the desire down.

“Thank you,” Erhardt responded, but as he passed through the door, Olberic lightly grabbed Erhardt’s wrist; that was enough to bring Erhardt to a complete stop.  

“Yes?” he asked, trying to sound irritated and failing.

“We should schedule a time to meet again,” Olberic said.  “I know you said you’ll change your hours, but I would really rather not cut into your work-time too much.  I remember you enjoying your beauty sleep, so how does a lunch date sound to you? Noon to 2?”

The phrasing made Erhardt’s stomach twist briefly, but he managed to maintain his composure and nodded.  “How about next month, same day as today? I will have definitely managed to maneuver clients around by then.”

“And 8AM to 2PM is fine, Erhardt.  In terms of hours, I mean. I...appreciate your willingness to expand them more than you can imagine, but that amount of time is fine.  I usually work the afternoon shift, as Cyrus is an early-riser by nature, so wouldn’t be available anyway.”

Erhardt hummed in acknowledgement, but before he could pull his hand away, Olberic tugged him close and into a lingering, gentle kiss.  

_ I am a professional,  _ Erhardt thought as he returned the contact.   _ I should not be melting like this _ . 

Olberic gave him a smile after releasing him and said, “I won’t keep you any longer.”

“Are you free tonight?  Because  _ I’m _ free tonight and would love to spend more time with you,” Erhardt said quickly as he remembered that he had  _ the entire week _ to himself _. _

"Oh?"

"In fact, I have the rest of the week off. I've been working too hard, so felt I deserved the time to rest and recover."

"As a small business owner I  _ technically _ make my own hours…" Olberic murmured. "What would you have us do together?" 

_ Lots of sex and deep, languid pillow talk, _ Erhardt thought; the amusement in Olberic's eyes said that he knew  _ exactly  _ what Erhardt would want.

"We could catch up," Erhardt said aloud.  "Tell each other stories. You could tell me about Theo's first day of school, and I could tell you about the times I was mistaken for a child's mother. You could tell me about your poor life decisions and I can tell you mine. I know plenty of restaurants where no one will bother us. We could spend time in the park or visit the botanical garden that is just outside city limits. There are plenty of  _ things  _ that we could do or that I could do to you."

Olberic looked intrigued, and couldn’t entirely hide a smirk at Erhardt's last statement. "All ideas with merit. Know that I will most certainly  _ reciprocate _ any...activities...as such would only be fair."

_ Oh, gods damnit,  _ just fuck me _! I will apologize to Leon  _ somehow, Erhardt thought, more desperate than he would have liked.

"I'll consider your suggestions," Olberic continued. "I would like to get to  _ know _ you again."

Erhardt gave Olberic a coy, sly smile and purred, "I'm sure you would."   

Delicious tension hung between them, and Erhardt was content to let it unfurl, oddly reveling in the low, simmering heat of burgeoning arousal. Erhardt ached to trace every line of Olberic's body, to draw out soft, pained sounds of ecstasy as he turned every ounce of well-honed skill on the man, but he also relished the edge of fantasy that came from denying himself that. 

_ Sometimes, it is the lure of temptation that is its own form of seduction,  _ Erhardt thought and stepped away slowly, even though his eyes never left Olberic's. 

"You have my number," Erhardt said, his voice low and slow. "And I look forward to hearing from you."

Olberic's breath hitched slightly, and his eyes were delightfully arousal-dark.  

“I have to get going, but I can’t as long as you remain here,” Erhardt said.  “Of course, you  _ could _ simply stay...I would make it worth your wait.”

Erhardt was pleased by how Olberic visibly shivered, his mind clearly presenting him with ideas and half-formed desires of what might happen later if he remained in Erhardt’s loft.  

“No,” Olberic said.  “I have other things to do today as well.  I’ll keep your  _ offer _ in mind, though.”

Olberic left after that, although the final, searing look Erhardt was treated to made him force down a moan.

_ Oh, this is great fun, _ Erhardt decided as he grabbed his usual purse.   _ I’ll have to think of texts to randomly send him.  Hopefully it’ll prompt him to put his hand down my pants sooner rather than later. _

Erhardt wasn’t entirely sure how he got to the restaurant, lost as he was in pleasant daydreams of what he would  _ do _ to Olberic once he had successfully seduced him.  

“You’re more dressed up than usual,” Leon commented as Erhardt arrived at Leon’s favorite restaurant about eight minutes late.  

“Is that a bad thing?”  Erhardt personally thought that he wasn’t  _ that _ dressed up, but his standards were quite different from most.  He  _ was _ wearing jeans--that had to count for something. 

“No, just wondering why.  You usually use these meetings as an excuse to wear your most ‘casual’ clothes.”

“My  _ most casual _ clothes are no clothes at all,” Erhardt quipped and slid into the seat across from Leon.

Leon laughed softly at that and gave him a fond, if exasperated, smile.

“How were your travels?” Erhardt asked as he picked up the menu and scanned it.  

“Good enough,” Leon said.  “I think I may have found a few new coffee suppliers for the Monster.”

Erhardt quirked an eyebrow.  “That your unofficial nickname for it?”

“I think it is the general unofficial nickname for it, although the logo that you apparently helped create sort of assisted in that.”

“It was less me and more the brainchild of Tressa, Lady Primrose, and Arianna.  I just mentioned part of the backstory regarding the cafe’s name and they ran with it.  I’m astonished that any of them are giving me credit at all.”

Leon gave Erhardt an incredulous look.  “That’s not the story that  _ they’re _ telling.”

“Then what story  _ are _ they telling?” Erhardt asked.  He remembered their teas fairly well, and there was nothing within that one that would make him think he was due any more credit than the rest of them when it came to the logo.  Sure, he had come to them with  _ ideas _ , but they had perfected them.

“ _ They _ say that you came to them with, like, complete mock-ups and all they had to do was suggest changes here and there and that you were alarmingly receptive to modification.  Almost as if you  _ cared _ about how it would represent the cafe.”

“Of course I care, the cafe is literally my fourth client,” Erhard pointed out.  “Happy customers leave good reviews and they  _ did _ pay me for the logo.”

Leon sighed and rolled his eyes, which made Erhardt frown.  

“Either way, the cafe is doing better than even just a month ago,” Leon said.  

“Well, good.  It’s nice to know my efforts are proving fruitful.  Anyway, where is this new coffee supplier of yours?”

“Up near Whispermill.  The climate is unconventional, but they’ve somehow made it work, and its some of the smoothest coffee I’ve tasted in a while.”

“And the road treated you well?”

“Stopped off at a few places to check on business and friends, but, yeah.  Things went pretty good.”

“Which is why you have a fading shiner and those long sleeves don’t entirely hide the bandages,” Erhardt drawled.  “What happened?”

“Nothing that I couldn’t handle,” Leon responded with a shrug.  “It’s very much a ‘You should see the other guy’ situation.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s okay for  _ you _ to get hurt,” Erhardt said firmly.

“That Miguel fellow runs with some rough company.”

“And they’re the ones who hurt you?  Because you were being too nosy?”

“Hey, I’m fairly discreet.  They just have a better information network than I thought.”

Erhardt was incredulous, but their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the waiter.  Erhardt reflexively, shamelessly flirted with the waiter as he placed his order, and was delighted when the man responded positively.

Erhardt chuckled softly, then looked back to Leon, who seemed thoughtful.

“Leaf for your thoughts.”

“You’re...really good at what you do.”

“Indeed I am.”

“But, do you ever  _ stop _ working?”

“What?”

Leon gestured vaguely in the direction of the waiter.  “You’re never ‘off.’ Even on what  _ should _ be a day off, you’re still...I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Do not use this as an attempt to distract me from who hurt you and why.”

Leon smiled wryly.  “I’ll tell you when we’re not in such a public place.”

“You better.”

“Let’s just say that this runs a whole lot deeper than we thought.”

Erhardt paused, thought, then fished his business card case out of his bag.  “Like,  _ this _ deep?” he asked and slid Mattais’ business card--the one with ‘Werner’s’ number on it--to Leon.  “Look on the back.”

Leon gave Erhardt a wary look, and when he read what was there he swore softly and in three different languages.

“He’s back?” Leon asked quietly as he returned it.

Erhardt shook his head and put the card back into his business card case.  “Someone else is using his name.”

“What?  Why do you say that?”

Erhardt rested his elbows on the table, leaned in, and whispered, “Because I scattered Werner's ashes to the wind, and I doubt that anyone can bring back a dead man when his body has likely been blown across all of Osterra by now.”

Leon nodded slowly.  “Well, this  _ does _ go far deeper than I thought.”

“So, who and what did you find while pursuing Miguel and new coffee sources?” Erhardt asked as he leaned back.

“In Whispermill itself, it seems like there is a cult, maybe a religion, developing around a man who calls himself ‘the Savior.’”

Erhardt cocked an eyebrow.  “Well, that is needlessly dramatic.”

Leon snorted.  “You’re telling me.  Anyway, it seems like he is connected to the Church somehow.”

“That bodes ill.”

“I don’t think he’s  _ directly _ associated with the Church, but he may be profiting off it.”

“And Miguel is connected to this Savior?”

“Seems so,” Leon said before he took a sip of his water.  “Miguel is based in Marsalim. Darius is based in Northreach, but apparently has connections in Wellspring and Boulderfall.  Simeon is still firmly entrenched in Everhold, but there are whispers that the Crows have recently taken flight. Then there’s this ‘Savior’ in Whispermill.  Things are getting  _ weird _ and I’m not sure to what end or why.”

“Did you hear anything about Red-Eye?”

“Funny you should ask about that…”

“Leon.”

“Someone in Whispermill knows whomever is trading in Red-Eye.  I found a few packs of the stuff hidden in the supplies I picked up from there.”

“Whispermill and Marsalim are on opposite sides of the continent!”

“it definitely isn't a good situation.”

“It most certainly is not.”

Erhardt sighed and rubbed his eyes.  “And I’m assuming it’s because of the Red-Eye that you had your altercation?”

“Perhaps.”

“Leon…”

“Don’t worry, I can handle myself.”

“I know, and that’s why I’m worried.  They know you’re no push-over now.”

“They also know that trying to make me a drug runner ends poorly for  _ them _ .”

Erhardt sighed.  “Just...try to be a little more careful, okay?  If not for me, then for Tressa.”

Leon’s face flushed a little before he shook his head.  “We can’t...I’ve told her we can’t date. And this time, she agreed.”

“If this is still about the age gap…”

“No, it’s that…” Leon’s shoulders dropped and he idly played with Baltazar’s engagement ring, which he kept on a chain around his neck.  “She’s the same age as Baltazar when...when I lost him. I think, maybe, if she turns even a  _ year _ older than Baltazar, a part of me will, I don’t know, accept that it’s not the age that’s cursed, it was just...life is shitty sometimes.”

“Life is shitty sometimes,” Erhardt agreed and gently covered Leon’s other hand with his own.  “Incredibly shitty, in fact. But, you’ll see. You deserve happiness, Leon.”

“As do you,” Leon responded before his expression changed to one of almost malign curiosity.  “I got back to Noblecourt on Sunday.”

“I’m glad you’ve had time to rest.”

“When I went to the Monster for my delivery yesterday, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Olberic so anxious.”

“So?”

“Each time I asked him  _ why _ he was nervous, he ignored the question or changed the topic of conversation entirely.”

“Get to the point, Leon.”

“You two are getting back together, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Erhardt hedged. He didn't want to jinx anything.  “I have a story for you.”

“Oh?” Leon said, accepting the change in subject.

“Olberic drunk-texted me once.”

“No shit?”

“Nope.  And guess what the asshole did?”

“What?”

“He tricked me into agreeing to take him and Cyrus on a date to Balogar’s Blade.”

Leon cracked up and didn’t stop laughing until the waiter came with their food.  Erhardt gave him a flirtatious wink, which earned him a smile in return.  

“ _ How _ ?” Leon asked through tears.  “How the hells did he do  _ that _ ?”

“We were talking about our favorite restaurants, and he listed Brand’s Thunder as one he patronizes often--apparently with Cyrus, who enjoys the cocktails he gets for free from hopeful paramours.  Olberic suggested that I go with them one night and I told him that anyone seeing me there would ruin my reputation and that I would take him to Balogar’s instead. To which he responded, ‘Is that a promise?’  I couldn’t back out after that, so...”

Leon started laughing again until he gave himself hiccups.  Erhardt, meanwhile, enjoyed better food than he thought he would be getting at the establishment Leon had suggested.  

“I’m glad you find as much humor in the situation as I do,” Erhardt said once Leon had conquered his hiccups.  “I’m trying to figure out  _ when _ .  Olberic told me that he and Cyrus are available after 7PM, but Balogar’s is more of a  _ lounge _ than a bar, and I would bet good leaf that Olberic doesn’t have a single piece of formal wear in his closet or drawers anymore, whichever he possesses.  I would take him to get something tailored, but I don’t think I’d survive.”

“I imagine that seeing him getting something like that done would give your dreams fodder for  _ days _ .”

“Days?  Try weeks.  When I visited the bookstore to discuss how I would help Cyrus and Olberic with their online presence, the man walked in with an open button-down over a black, skin-tight shirt and I didn’t sleep well for quite some time.  Gods, I forgot the care he takes with his body.”

Leon snickered before taking a few bites of his sandwich.  

“Did you know that Cyrus teaches at the Institute?” Erhardt commented before he took a bite of his own sandwich. 

Leon choked a little on his food but got it down.  “I mean, it makes sense, but  _ really _ ?  What the hells does he teach?”

“I don’t know,” Erhardt responded.  “I was checking my Institute-schedule to see if they had hoisted any trainees on me when I saw his name as teaching a first-year, public class.  The fact that he’s in the  _ system _ , however, says he’s deeper in the Institute than just a contracted employee.  It  _ does _ give me insight into why he has a few of the quirks he does.”

Leon took a few sips of water before he shook his head.  “Does  _ everyone _ in the cafe have something to do with your line of work?”

“As far as I know, the only way Therion is connected to the Institute is through his clumsy attempts at flirting with Cordelia.  It is adorable watching new love blossom. She’s so  _ frustrated _ with him, but the boy apparently has some very deep trauma that has him keeping her at arm’s length.”

“That’s too bad,” Leon said, his expression a little sad.  “He’s a hard worker and while he  _ wants _ to be close to people, it’s not hard to see that trust issue.  Ophilia has adopted him as a younger brother of sorts.”

“Ophilia is an  _ interesting _ young woman.”

“You’ve talked?”

“I’ve worked for her.”

“ _ What _ ?”

Erhardt smiled, and continued to eat his sandwich.

“Oh, come  _ on _ , Erhardt, you can’t leave it there!” Leon protested.

“And why can’t I?”

“Because I can’t imagine why  _ Ophilia _ , of all people, would employ you.”

“Well, the Church technically did, not her.”

“Gods, that makes it even worse.  What kind of blackmail did you have?”

“I’m wounded.”

“ _ Erhardt _ .”

“My employment was through perfectly legal channels.”

“...you really aren’t going to tell me anything specific.”

“Correct.”

Leon sighed dramatically.  “Fine, be that way.”

“I shall.”

After a small silence, Leon said, “Okay, I'm going to challenge you to something.”

“Oh? What?”

“When the server comes by, I want you to  _ not _ flirt with him.”

“Why?” Erhardt asked, confused. “I'm not trying to seduce him. It's just in fun.”

“Yes, but, I guess I'm asking if it ever turns off.”

“If what does?”

“ _ Sir _ Erhardt. Is there any time you're just Erhardt?”

“Yes?” Erhardt said, his confusion deepening. “I'm not always on the job, and I think I'm doing a pretty good job of being your brother and not the most coveted escort in Osterra.”

“I guess...I don’t know, I suppose...I knew but I didn’t  _ know _ ,” Leon said. “You always seemed normal, or, well, like how I remembered you when you called or texted, and during the few times a year we saw each other. But then we break off all contact and we reconnect after  just a few years and you're...different.”

Erhardt frowned. “Different? I...perhaps? I don’t know. It's  _ fun _ to flirt with people. I  _ like _ looking pretty even when it's just for me. I take care of myself because I  _ enjoy _ my body as well as relying on it for my livelihood. I suppose it is simply now more...natural?”

“Maybe,” Leon said, but there was tension and sadness in his posture. 

“Leon, what’s wrong?” Erhardt asked, putting his sandwich down.

“It’s nothing,” Leon responded.

“It most definitely is not  _ nothing _ ,” Erhardt said.

After a long silence Leon murmured, “I feel like I’ve lost you.”

“Lost me?” Erhardt repeated.

“Maybe not physically, but it feels like...it feels like you’re not  _ you _ anymore.”  There was the smallest bit of anger lacing the sorrow in Leon’s words.

“You're thinking that I am either deceiving you now or I was deceiving you then,” Erhardt said slowly. 

Leon didn’t answer.

Erhardt sat back in his chair and looked thoughtfully at his younger brother. “When we were...for the five years that we were still talking but  _ after _ I hurt Olberic, I was playing games of power and seduction to claw my way to the top. I think I was forgetting who I was and clung to our interactions as a way to remind myself that there was something else besides my jobs and clients and the need to fill the hole in me with  _ something _ .  But when we broke off, I realized that I couldn’t keep myself separate like that, that my public and private persona had to be the same. People could tell it was a mask, although a very convincing one. So, therapy and introspection later, I am how and who I am.”

Erhardt paused until Leon looked at him. “So, there was never any willing deception involved. I wanted to be the best brother I could be for you.  I wanted you to be happy, and I tried to do everything I could to make sure you were...even if I didn’t succeed.”

“Have I changed, Erhardt?” Leon asked after another drawn-out silence.

“Of course,” Erhardt replied. “You are both bolder and more fearful. You have an extensive trading network of both legal and not-so-legal goods. I know that half of the products on the shelves of stores have been, at the _ very least _ , shipped by you. You are an accomplished man, Leon, but there are shadows to you that I don’t know or understand. I figure you'll tell me one day, when you’re ready, because you wont tell me if I do ask.” 

"What makes you think I wouldn't?"

"Then tell me something I don’t know about you now."

"Why?"

Erhardt shook his head slowly. "See? I asked for you to share something, and you, more or less, said no."

A long, sad silence hung between them.

"Erhardt…" Leon eventually sighed. 

"I don’t know what I can say or do to make things better or less awkward between us. What do you want, Leon?"

"I don't...I suppose I want to know how much of our interactions is Institute training and how much is genuine."

Erhardt frowned sharply.  “You’re family. I don’t use Institute training on you, except to make myself calm down.  Escort protocol is good for making me relax when I really want to strangle you.”

Leon snorted slightly at that.  “Will you promise that you’ll never treat me like a client?”

“Of course.  As long as you promise to lean on me when you need someone to talk to.  We both have been through our share of trauma--I want you to let me help you deal with  _ some _ of it.”

Leon was silent for a long moment before nodding.  “Fine.”

“Great.  I’m  _ extremely _ relieved that you made it back here safely.”

“I’m glad, too.  Have you been around the Monster yourself lately?”

“A few times, yes.”

“Can you tell me anything interesting that happened in my absence?”

“Well…”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was writing something else and discovered that it is Matt-ia-s not Matt-ai-s. Whoops. I apologize for all my former spelling errors.
> 
> Aside from that, please enjoy and nothing Octopath Traveler belongs to me.

Erhardt was visiting the Coffee Monster because he had wanted to see if Leon was lying about if its success truly was due to, in a small part, his efforts--and, of course, to see if he could corner Olberic.  

During Erhardt's week off, they had played an unofficial game of hide-and-seek. Erhardt would gleefully 'prank call' Olberic and leave messages with hints of where he would be. Olberic would inevitably find him, and they would trade brief, soft, lingering touches and a snippet of a life story, just enough to tantalize and provide motivation to find the other to hear the rest. Olberic would give Erhardt a hint of his own, and then it would be up to Erhardt to find him.  _ Erhardt’s _ prize was claimed in fleeting kisses before they traded stories _. _

Cyrus had occasionally meddled in their game if the hints were too opaque, which Erhardt found very intriguing. He seemed to be quite invested in other people's romance even if he was blind to other people's attraction to him.

 Even after Erhardt and Olberic's game had inevitably ended due to Erhardt returning to a ‘normal’ work schedule, they had found other ways to play. It made Erhardt  _ giggle _ , how much he enjoyed figuring out the right things to text Olberic that he took the longest amount of time to respond to, or that Olberic responded to with something equally vile and explicit.  It had certainly given Erhardt the most  _ interesting _ dreams and had provided some much needed inspiration for his carnal clients. Overall, it was far too much fun, and was, strangely enough, more satisfying than if he managed to immediately seduce Olberic into his bed--probably because of the  _ anticipation _ that it was building.  Even if the sex ended up being  _ awful _ \--which Erhardt was pretty sure wouldn’t be the case--it would still be satisfying, a  _ release _ . 

Erhardt was glad to see that the cafe was indeed busier than the last time he had been to it, and there were more faintly familiar baristas.  Alfyn was there, along with Zeph, who he was apparently dating. Ophilia, too, was present and talking to the young woman she had been training the last time Erhardt had visited; they were, according to Leon, sisters.  Therion looked like he was just coming off-shift.  

Erhardt wasn’t used to people looking to him for protection, but the look on Therion’s face as he walked purposefully over said that Erhardt was the complete last resort. The boy at least trusted Erhardt enough through osmosis from his friends that he could approach him and say, “Cordelia is in danger.”

Erhardt kept his expression neutral and said, “How so?”

Therion shifted uncomfortably before his expression hardened slightly.  “There’s...a man. His name is Darius, and I have reason to think that there is a good chance that he'll try to hurt Cordelia.”

“Darius,” Erhardt said slowly.  “I happen to have an  _ interest _ in a man named Darius.  Maybe we can use Cyrus’ office for a private conversation?  I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Therion looked nervously around and murmured, “Frankly, people will pay less attention to us if we stay here and talk than if we leave together.”

_ He has a point _ , Erhardt conceded.  Erhardt had never done well in his spy classes.

“Come.  I see a free table, but it likely won’t stay that way for long,” Erhardt said and swiftly strode over to where two people were leaving.  He gave them his most charming smile and hurried them along before stepping aside so Therion could take the inside seat. From how skittish the boy was acting, he probably would appreciate the extra protection of sorts.  

“How do  _ you _ know about Darius?” Therion asked, giving Erhardt a wary side-eye.  

“I have reason to believe that he’s the ringleader of a sex-slavery operation,” Erhardt replied.  “But he’s an awfully difficult person to pin down. I know he’s working out of Northreach, Boulderfall, and Wellspring, however.”

Therion’s expression flickered ever so slightly when Erhardt mentioned Boulderfall, and Erhardt filed that away for later examination.  

“I’m not surprised you’re having difficulty cornering him,” Therion said.  “He’s a slippery bastard.”

“And how would you happen to know this?”

“I...I’ve been hiding from him for years, but it looks like he’s finally caught up with me and...I don’t want Cordelia to be hurt.  I don’t want  _ anyone _ here to be hurt.”

_ Including me? _ Erhardt wanted to ask, but he knew that saying that would only derail a productive conversation.  

“Then, you were a victim of his?” 

Therion didn’t even flinch, but he shook his head slowly.  “Yes and no.”

Erhardt waited.  Therion would either clarify or he wouldn’t; nothing that Erhardt could say would change that.

When it appeared nothing was forthcoming, Erhardt said: “Perhaps we can take a proactive approach. Kit Crossford is your brother, right?” 

The boy had an exceptional poker face. The only sign that he was surprised was a short hitch in his breathing. 

“Yeah.  Why?”

“He's one of our best ‘actors.’”

“He’s a horrible actor,” Therion responded, incredulous. “Although he’s really good at set design.”

Erhardt hummed, declining to comment in public and deciding that Kit wasn’t the correct person to approach if Therion didn’t  _ entirely _ know about Kit’s profession. “Nevermind, then. Still, I should have you speak with a few people I know who will be better equipped to deal with Darius and his machinations than I. I will see about arranging protection for Miss Ravus.”

Therion had tensed. “Why should I talk to anyone?”

Erhardt leaned over the table and reached out, gently brushing his fingers against Therion’s cheek and and hiding, at least from one direction, their lips using his hand

“The Institute is more than it seems. Let's just say that we have the means, motivation, and skill to be a  _ danger _ to people like Darius.  We've been chasing a few people Darius is purported to work with, but they vanish like smoke when it looks like we have them cornered. Help the Institute, and the Institute will help you.” Erhardt leaned in a little more. "Let me give you a secret in good faith. If I were to  _ properly _ address Zeph over there, he would be  _ Sir _ Zeph, yet he is  _ not  _ an escort."

Therion blinked in surprise.  _ “Zeph? _ Trained by the Institute but not an escort? Then what is he? _ ” _

" _ That _ isn’t something I can tell you,"  Erhardt said and let his hand fall away. “Coordinating schedules would normally be a chore, but I'm sure everyone I will be contacting will be very interested in what you have to say.”

Therion shifted in his seat and his eyes darted about with the nerves of the truly afraid. He deeply believed that Darius would try to take everything and everyone precious to Therion away from him. He was also unconvinced that the Institute--or anyone--would really be able to do anything to  _ stop _ Darius.  

_ There is more to his story, _ Erhardt thought, but said nothing. 

Therion eventually sighed heavily. “You promise...you  _ promise _ that you'll protect Cordelia?”

“We will do everything we can to keep Miss Ravus safe.”

“ _ Promise _ me,” Therion almost snarled.

Erhardt usually balked at making promises.  Promises could be weaponized. But, he was invested in the Ravus heiress as well, so he saw no issue.  

“I promise.”

Therion’s shoulders relaxed slightly at that.

“Can I have your number?  To contact you with information on our future meeting, of course.”

Therion clearly mentally debated whether or not it would be  _ safe _ to give Erhardt his number, then sighed and nodded. 

Erhardt took out a business card, flipped it over, and slid it and a pen to Therion.  There was a moment longer of hesitation before Therion picked up the pen and quickly wrote a phone number down.

“Don’t let anyone else get a hold of that,” he said, an empty threat in his voice.  

“Of course,” Erhardt said and slipped the card away. 

“I have to go.  I don’t want to be late for rehearsal.”

Therion promptly got up, and Erhardt watched the young man leave, a mixture of tension and relief in his gait and posture.  Erhardt felt someone’s eyes on him and turned to see Zeph give him a cheerful wave.

_ I wonder how much of that he caught, _ Erhardt thought before entering Therion’s phone number into his contacts.  He looked at his watch, shrugged, and called Arianna.

“Sir Erhardt, to what do I owe your call?” Arianna asked after picking up on the third ring.

“I think I have a lead on Darius.”

“Oh?”

“Former victim and terrified as hell, but willing to speak.”

Arianna hummed.  “I’m free tomorrow for lunch.”

“Do you know if Lady Yusufa is?”

“She will be free because I say so.”

“I’ll see if Sir Zeph can take an extended lunch break.”

“You know Sir Zeph?  Who am I kidding, of course you do.  If he could attend as well, that would be lovely.”

“Great.  Noon?”

“Where should we meet?”

“The Gallery?” Erhardt offered.

The Gallery looked like an art/frame shop, but a code word away and it was one of the best left-over speakeasies Erhardt knew.  The owner was a friend of the Institute, so Erhardt was sure that he would give them some space and time, particularly if Arianna asked.  He didn’t necessarily get along with Erhardt because of  _ one _ incident when he was younger that Erhardt had provided more than enough compensation for.

_ Damn, but the man holds a grudge, _ Erhardt thought ruefully as Arianna considered his proposal.

“A sound choice,” Arianna eventually agreed.  “Tomorrow at noon at the Gallery.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Perhaps because it is one,” Arianna said, amusement in her voice before she hung up.

Erhardt looked at his flashing phone for a moment before putting it away.   _ The plot thickens.  How interesting.   _

“You know, you’re not supposed to sit here without purchasing something.”

Erhardt looked up to see the young man he had referenced not too long ago standing on the other side of the table, giving him a cheerful smile.  

“Zeph, it’s been a while,” Erhardt said and extended his hand.  Zeph took it and sat down.

“So, why am I taking an extended lunch break tomorrow?”

“We have a lead on Darius and I’d like you to be there.”

Zeph hummed and looked at door where Therion had left.  “I see. Well, you’re in luck. Tomorrow is my off day. Gallery at noon, you said?”

“I’m not terribly subtle; I hope I didn’t put him in danger.”

Zeph shook his head.  “I was watching the cafe while you were having your conversation.  For all anyone could tell, you were trying to either recruit him or setting up a different kind of  _ meeting  _ for a later point in time.”

Erhardt snorted.  “The boy is certainly pretty enough.”

Zeph smiled faintly.  “I’m surprised that he went to  _ you _ , though.”

“His main concern is the protection of Miss Ravus.  Given how much time I spend with her, I imagine it would make sense to come to me.”

Zeph inclined his head slightly.  “Point. Well, I’ll see you soon enough.  You really  _ do _ have to buy at least a coffee if you plan on sitting here any longer, though.  Bad for business to take up space without advertising.”

Erhardt chuckled as Zeph walked away, then pushed himself to his feet.  He still had a few more hours to himself. However, when he had taken out a business card, he had seen Mattias’ with Werner’s contact information on it.

_ I shouldn’t avoid this, _ Erhardt thought as he tapped his fingers on his business card case.   _ It may even prove useful to tomorrow’ meeting.  But, what do I  _ say _?  I’m no actor. I work best off of physical cues, not verbal ones. _

A possibility flashed in Erhardt’s mind that made him shudder.

_ I  _ refuse _ to associate myself with him in person, whomever they may be, _ he thought.   _ I will figure out something to say before I call and then work from there.  The office in my loft is slightly soundproofed and I can call from my burner phone.  Gods, this is going to make me feel like slime, isn’t it? _

Erhardt stood to leave the cafe, but caught a glimpse out of Olberic out of the corner of his eye.  

_ Sometimes, it’s nice to know I’m being watched, _ Erhardt thought as he left the cafe, a happy thrill working through him.   However, that momentary shot of dopamine was quickly washed away by the cortisol that came from considering speaking to someone who used the same name as his first pimp.  

_ Gods, I’m going to have to practice saying his name in the mirror until it can come out with something other than disgust or fear,  _ Erhardt thought as he walked towards his loft.  

Werner had been the one lead that he  _ should _ have mentioned to someone besides Leon or followed up on sooner, but it was too personal for him to let anyone else handle it, even if that would likely be the better plan.  Erhardt  _ needed _ to know what kind of scumbag would pick up that name as an alias.  Werner had been fairly infamous and feared, and Erhardt himself used that to his advantage, so it wasn’t  _ too _ strange; nonetheless, it made his skin crawl.  

_ And why would Mattias know him?  Or Darius? Or Miguel? I’ll have to bring that up separately.  Because if there is Mattias’ wealth and influence behind them...well, I need to know what they’re  _ actually _ up to, even if it’s the very last thing I want to know.  Okay, Erhardt. Channel your inner Arianna or Zeph. You can be a smooth talker when you want to. _

Erhardt wrote and re-wrote the beginning of his conversation with ‘Werner’ in his head the entire way to his loft, and still had nothing that sounded remotely suave by the time he arrived.  

_ Damn, it seems like I still desperately need to talk through Werner.  You’d think the years would make him less...terrifying, I suppose,  _ he thought as he let himself into his loft.   _ Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained or lost. _ __

He left his shoes near the door and unbuttoned a few buttons on his shirt before rifling through his desk drawers and finding the disposable phone.  He placed it on the top of the desk, set his business card case next to it, and stared at them both.  

_ You are thirty-five years old,  _ Erhardt told himself.   _ You escaped him at nineteen.  You murdered him at twenty-five.  The only power he holds over you is through memories.  And since this person  _ clearly _ isn’t him, you have nothing to fear. _

He picked up the phone, took a deep breath, and dialed the number.

_ Time to drop some names and hope I don’t get into trouble. _

The phone rang twice before a man answered.

“Hello?”

Erhardt nearly sighed in relief.  It  _ wasn’t _ him.

“Hello,” Erhardt said, pitching his voice to perfectly match what the true Werner had sounded like--as much as he hated the man, he  _ knew _ him.  “I’m looking to speak to Werner.”

“Who’s calling?”

“I’m a  _ business _ associate of Mattias.  He told me that I may be interested in speaking to Werner about possible...opportunities.”

There was a long enough silence on the other end that Erhardt worried the man had hung up.

“Mattias,” the man eventually said.  “He and I  _ do _ have transactions from time to time.”

“It is difficult to receive a recommendation from him,” Erhardt commented, which was not a lie.  Getting one from Mattias was sure to put a potential politician on the fast track to success.

“What kind of opportunities are you looking for?”

“Ones that don’t step on too many toes.  I know that both Miguel and Darius are very dangerous men and I’d rather not court competition.  I wouldn’t be averse to collaboration, however.”

The man who had assumed the name of Werner chuckled on the other side of the line, the sound low and dark and setting off all sorts of warning bells.  

“You seek to run with wolves,” ‘Werner’ said.

“I have survived lions’ dens,” Erhardt drawled in replied.

That earned him a more genuine laugh.  “Very well. I’m sure you’re a smart man and are using a false number--you are certainly wise enough to avoid giving me your name.  I will pass on potential  _ opportunities _ to Mattias, as I am sure that  _ he _ knows who you are.  I’m interested in seeing how a new presence will alter the balance of power.”

With that, the line went dead.  Erhardt tossed the phone into the trash and sighed heavily.

“Fuck,” he murmured, stood, found the key to his alcohol cabinet, and located his favorite scotch.  

He retrieved a tumbler from the kitchen and gave himself a generous helping.

“Thank the gods for a night appointment,” he murmured and sat down on the couch that looked out over the city.  

_ It isn’t  _ him _ , _ Erhardt thought, relieved.   _ But, then, who  _ is _ he and how does he fit into all this?  Is he a go-between? The chess master behind it all?  More questions than answers, and I had hoped to  _ get _ answers.  I hadn’t thought it would be a leisurely conversation, but also not quite so abrupt.   _

Erhardt shivered after taking a sip, not at the bite of the alcohol, but at how  _ effortlessly _ he had reproduced Werner’s voice.  

“Well, a topic of discussion with my therapist for later,” he told his apartment.  “Until then, I have to figure out the right way to provide support and security while also helping to coax information out of Therion  _ and _ figure out how I’m going to manage whatever ‘opportunities’ I am given via Mattias.  Gods, I hate the man. Why  _ him _ ?  I suppose at least it’s not Simeon.  And the Lyblac woman...what did or does she want with  _ Kit _ ?”

Erhardt sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling out the hair tie.  “More questions than answers.”

His personal phone buzzed and Erhardt picked it up.

Olberic.

-Saw you were at the cafe today.  Sorry i couldn't talk, I was on the way out.  A ceiling fan fell off the ceiling and onto a kitchen table, so I had to be on hand to assess and start those repairs

Erhardt smiled faintly, and found that his shoulders relaxed as he imagined Olberic saying the words instead of having them be merely marks on a screen.  

-it’s okay, I wasn’t there for that long

-still, i would’ve liked to speak with you even if for just a second

Warmth tingled through Erhardt and he smiled.  

_ Gods, even a small thing like this shouldn’t make me feel good, but it  _ does _ and that’s incredibly weird and stupid.  I’m a professional, damnit! _

A smirk slowly spread across Erhardt’s face before he replied:

-Just *speak* with me?

-It was a bit busy and i don’t remember you being subtle or quiet

-i can be quiet if my mouth is too occupied for me to talk. Then it’s all on you

-I’d much rather you take your time 

Erhardt shivered.

-I’m free until 5:30, you know

-And I’m working until close

Erhardt sighed.  “Damn. And it’s an overnight booking tonight or else…” Erhardt paused, tapped a few times and scrolled through his calendar.

-Hey, are you free two months from exactly today?

After a bit of a pause, Olberic responded.

-Yes.  Why?

-Ask Cyrus to help you get something a little nicer.  Balogar’s is a lounge, not a bar, so I expect you to look worthy of being my date ;)

-You sure I can’t get you to help?

-I trust Cyrus

-Don’t forget about our lunch date

-It’s in my calendar so I won’t

-Good

-I’m always free from 8 to 2

-I know

And yet you have yet to take advantage of me,” Erhardt grumbled to his phone and tossed it onto the seat cushion next to him.  “Well, I have two months to plan how to get you into my bed and make it so worthwhile that you’ll never want to leave it, if I don’t manage to seduce you before that.”

Erhardt lapsed into silence as he sat on his couch and tried to force his thoughts away from Werner and Mattias and focus solely on what it would  _ feel _ like to be with Olberic again.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm quite happy with myself for having such a regular update schedule.
> 
> Also, nothing Octopath Traveler related belongs to me.

The Gallery was a fine, old bar with wood paneling on the walls and worn, but carefully maintained, wood floors. The lighting was perpetually low, and it wasn't hard to imagine the room dimmed even further by lazy curls of cigarette smoke floating about the ceiling. It was small, only three booths and a long bar that seated 13 if you didn't mind being cozy with the person next to you, since the stools were packed fairly close. The wall behind the bar was stocked with, at a low price point, mid shelf liquor, and a few craft beers and quality wines were available. The bar and booths were both dark wood, the cushions all a deep green color. 

Erhardt liked the place in spite of his history with the owner.

Erhardt arrived last and technically late, although he considered two minutes late to be on time. Arianna and Therion's expressions clearly indicated that they felt otherwise. 

Because the bar technically wasn't open, the barkeep/owner was playing oldies and occasionally warbling along.  Erhardt gave him one of his most charming smiles and a flirtatious wink, which earned him a derisive snort.

Erhardt always found it funny, how much he stood out when placed next to the most accomplished practitioners of the other specializations.

If you put Zeph in a crowd of people, it would be nearly impossible to find him.  His features were plain and apparently guileless, and he wore a simple pair of jeans and band t-shirt.  There was absolutely nothing remarkable about him or his appearance at all, which was, admittedly, the point--a spy that stood our didn't last long.  

Arianna had an understated grace and simplicity, although she was looking a little more professional than usual in a sharp, black skirt-suit, her white blouse having a few ruffles poking out of the suit jacket she wore.  She had simple, pearl-drop earrings, a tasteful amount of make-up, and her hair was pulled up into a tactfully messy bun held in place by two hair-pins that had charms dangling off the broader ends.

Yusufa looked cute in an oversized, blue tunic with a boat-neck cut, had a set of sapphire stud earrings in, and was without make-up at the moment.  Erhardt was sure she was wearing athleisure leggings, but her legs were beneath the table, so he couldn’t be certain.  

Therion was a little at odds with the group, a loose, purple sweatshirt all Erhardt could see, but he was doing an admirable job of appearing relaxed and unconcerned.  

Erhardt himself had felt a playful upon waking, so had grabbed a pair of nearly form-fitting leather pants, and a front-lacing, red corset top with a repeating, gold fleur-de-lis pattern, the cut and form made for his body alone. He wore nothing beneath it, since the weather was turning hot.  As accessories, he wore three-tiered, gold earrings with ruby teardrops, and a stack of gold, bronze, and silver bracelets on his left wrist. He had a ring with an oval-cut ruby surrounded by diamonds on his right middle finger and had threaded his hair with gold ribbon. Was it gaudy?  Absolutely. Did he sparkle when he walked? Certainly, and that was the point. It most certainly made him stand out in their company.

He had also taken quite a few pictures of himself during the...process...of getting dressed and sent the best ones to Olberic.  He was inordinately pleased that he had yet to receive a response.

 Erhardt took a free chair that the barkeep begrudgingly lent him and placed it at the head of the booth, since the seats were otherwise taken; while he would have normally flirted with Yusufa and asked her to sit in his lap, he knew she’d more likely nut-punch him than do so.  

“I hope I didn't miss anything,’ Erhardt said as he made himself comfortable. 

“No, simple small talk,” Zeph said, which meant he had already teased out some of the information they wanted from Therion.

“Of course.  Then I assume you’ve all introduced yourselves and why  _ you _ want to speak with him,” Erhardt said, looking at Therion.  Beneath his cool demeanor, the young man did seem a little overwhelmed, at least based on how his fingers were curled around the oversized cuffs of his sweatshirt.

“He has a better understanding of the Institute, yes,” Yusufa stated.

“Good to hear.”

“Well, then. Down to business,” Arianna said after giving Erhardt one last disapproving look. She turned to Therion.  “The Institute believes that Darius is running a sex slavery ring out of Northreach, Wellspring, or Boulderfall. He is employing a young man named Gareth to lure the women away or to appear the hero by slaying their pimp, who is usually under Darius’ employ anyway. The man doesn't seem to put much stock in human life.”

“No, he really doesn't,” Therion responded.

“Do you know which city would be best for us to focus our investigation on?”

 “There’s too much...competition...in Wellspring, so he’s probably in Northreach,” Therion said. “He's not stupid enough to be in Boulderfall. I set the police on him there, they know what he looks like and there are only so many bolt holes.” 

“This is not the first time he's done this?” Zeph asked, his voice soft and kind. 

Therion hesitated, then shook his head. 

“Can you tell us anything about his tactics before? How you put him on the run?” Yusufa asked.

Therion laughed, the sound low, quiet, and bitter.  “Put him on the run? I guess. I got tired of being used and he decided I was too smart to keep around.”

“Could you explain what you mean?”

After a long silence, Therion finally spoke.

“I’d been living on the streets my entire life, getting by as a thief, when Darius found me,” Therion said quietly.  “Took me in, gave me a place to live, all I had to do was keep on plying my trade as a thief for him. Stealing  _ things _ was easy.  But, then…” Therion shook his head slowly.  “Then he asked me to start stealing people.  It wasn’t just people, though--when I worked for him, I mean.  It was other things, too--art pieces, money. I got really good at getting around supposed high-tech security systems.  You act like you belong, and people ignore you.”

Erhardt nodded slightly at that.  That was one skill he  _ had _ managed to pick up from the ‘acting’ classes.

“I convinced myself that it was okay to steal people--I was taking them away from whorehouses," Therion continued.  "Darius was taking them somewhere better. People...trusted me. I’m good at that. Good at acting--that’s actually what I’m doing now, when not at the cafe.  Trying to get a lucky break and launch my acting career.”  

Therion took a deep breath.  “Anyway. When I found out what he was doing with the people he stole-- _ I  _ stole--I started to let them go.  Gave them enough leaf to get them out of their situation and claim that the police were getting wise to our operation.  Darius isn’t dumb, though. He found out somehow.”  

Therion fell silent for a long moment before he continued: “I reported Darius to the authorities.  Told them everything I knew. They nearly arrested me themselves, but I was granted clemency due to my age and the fact that I helped bust a case wide open.   I was under witness protection for a while, but, while they managed to get a hold of some of Darius’ accomplices, he had vanished.  And now...now he’s back.”

“You're certain?” Yusufa asked.

Therion’s face settled into the neutral expression of recent trauma and said, “ I am absolutely sure.”

“And you think he's going to see you as a threat again?”

Therion snorted. “Me? A threat? No, he’s just a sadistic asshole who is plotting revenge that will go above and beyond any  _ inconvenience _ he experienced.  But knowing he’s back to his games...if you need me to help, I will.”

“We wouldn’t ask you to put yourself in harms way,” Zeph said.  “You’re suffered enough at his hands.”

Erhardt knew the bitter smile that formed on Therion’s face, and could guess the whispers he was hearing in his mind.  They weren’t the same, naturally, but similar to ones Erhardt heard when he sunk too far into his darker memories.  

“Is there anything you can tell us of how he worked, who his contacts were, places where he used to hide the women, who he used as transport--”

“Yusufa,” Arianna chided, cutting into her rapid-fire list.  “We’re asking Therion to go over what are likely fairly traumatic memories.  One thing at a time.”

Yusufa took a deep, clearly counted to ten internally, then nodded.  “You’re right. I’m sorry, Therion.”

“It’s nothing,” Therion replied with a dismissive shrug.  

“You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to,” Zeph added.  

“Do you have any names?” Erhardt asked.  “Of people who he worked with, I mean.”

Therion thought.  “The Cianno family.  Lucia.  Helgenish.  Simeon. Albus and Rufus.  Maybe someone with an M? I can’t remember that one.  Werner. But, yeah. Those are the ones I remember. I thought it was weird that there was a lady in there but, heh, guess I’ve been wrong about women and their capability for ruthlessness.”

Yusufa merely smiled.  “Lucky for us, at least one of his associates, Helegnish, is no longer with us.”

Therion merely quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Simeon, though…” Arianna murmured.  “Albus and Rufus are his Crows. If he  _ was _ involved, he is likely  _ still _ involved.”

“Don’t tell Primrose,” both Erhardt and Zeph said at the same time.

Yusufa smirked as Arianna smiled politely.  

“She won’t know until  _ we _ know where at least one Crow has gone to roost.  I don’t think the gods could stop her once she finds out,” Yusufa said.  “Clean up will be tricky once she’s cut their wings, but it will be worth it to see the weight of her anger fall off her shoulders.”

“That leaves the Cianno family, Lucia, Werner, and this mysterious M alive and at large,” Arianna murmured.

“Werner is dead,” Erhardt said.  “Although there is a man pretending to be him, and he has some  _ influential  _ connections.  I have a speculation about M because of that, but that requires delicate handling.”

Erhardt caught a curious look from Therion, so he gave the young man a playful wink, which earned Erhardt skepticism in return, although the faint suggestion of a blush on Therions’ cheeks was gratifying.

“I can probably help a little with the Cianno family,” Therion said.  

“As a  _ family _ , they likely have their fingers in quite a few pies,” Zeph said.  “If we don’t catch them on sex trafficking, we’ll pin them on something else.  Still, you got a place to start?”

Therion hesitated, then said, “Well, no.  I don’t know a lot, ‘cept that they were tryin’ to recruit Darius.”

_ How interesting.  He’s from the Cliftlands.  His accent only comes out when he’s nervous, _ Erhardt thought.

“Do you know where they were based?”

“Wellspring,” Therion replied.  “They’re responsible for runnin’ the Black Market.”

Zeph and Yusufa exchanged a  _ look _ .  Arianna was much better at controlling her face and Erhardt ruthlessly suppressed any reaction from him.  

Erhardt could  _ still _ hear Werner’s threat:  

“If you don’t  _ behave _ , I’ll sell your brother on the Black Market.  He’s pretty, young, and strong. He’ll fetch a good price.”

“That’s great--we have a place to start now,” Zeph said and gave Therion an encouraging smile.  “We’ve been trying to figure out for  _ years _ who is the hand in the shadows that keeps that place running. Even just the  _ name  _ will help us out a whole lot.”

Therion gave Zeph the ghost of a smile.  

“Do you have anything regarding Lucia?” Arianna asked.  

Therion shook his head.  “Sorry, can’t help you with anything but a first name.”

“You’re sure it’s a first name?”

“Pretty sure.”

Yusufa leaned back in the booth and nodded absently.  “Well, might not help us  _ now _ , but will definitely help establish a pattern.  And maybe some of them will be willing to have a polite and civilized conversation where they tell us everything we ever wanted to know about their work with Darius.”

Zeph shook his head as Arianna sighed.

“I’m sure,” Erhardt drawled.

“Might you tell us his methods?” Zeph prompted.  “Anything about how he operated then might help us uncover how he’s operating and avoiding the law this time around.”

_ I’m pretty sure I know how, _ Erhardt thought, but kept his mouth shut.   _ Casually slinging around Mattais’ name isn’t smart, though, and I don’t have definitive proof.  Let’s see what ‘Werner’ gives me. _

“If his looks don’t lure you in, the threat of physical violence will get you to listen,” Therion said with a shrug.  

“He’s the kind who governs through fear and not love,” Zeph said. 

Therion nodded, the motion slightly jerky, his eyes focused on the past.

“He...I don’t know how, but he  _ knew _ schedules.  He knew who would bend to pressure, what it would take. Who would transport people without questions.  Got rid of anyone who got in the way. He was subtle and straightforward. He used other people and then tossed them aside when they were no longer useful,” Therion said, his accent fluctuating until it settled on the most neutral Osterran accent.  “I can’t tell you more than that. He trusted me to steal things, but that was it. You wanna know more about how he  _ worked _ , you talk to those people. At least, the ones that are still alive.”

“Anything else you would be willing to tell us, Therion?” Zeph asked.  

Therion was silent for a heartbeat before he nodded.  “He doesn’t sell all the victims. Some he keeps for himself.  Those are the ones that find their graves the soonest, since he always picks the ones that fight back.”

_ There’s a story behind that scar, _ Erhardt thought as he caught a glimpse of the skin that Therion hid behind his hair.   _ And I doubt it’s a pleasant one. _

“Could you tell us what he looks like?” Yusufa asked.

“I don’t know if he has changed how he looks, but when I saw him last, he had red-orange hair that went to his shoulders, and blue eyes.  He had a long, horizontal scar across his nose. Favored greens and black as his clothing. Medium build, but stronger than he looks. I...can’t really tell you much more than that.”

_ That’s a lie, _ Erhardt thought from how Therion was looking at the table.   _ You remember every mark on his body, don’t you?  That his eyes are blue-green when he wears darker colors but light blue when wearing lighter.  Still, no need to press. That will just shut him up and we don’t need that much detail. _

“Do you know of any ‘code words’ he’d use?” Zeph asked after a small silence.

Therion shrugged.  “They’d be code words for a reason, right?”

“Still, they might seem out of place in a regular conversation,” Arianna said.  

“And using those might make us more believable and trustworthy,” Zeph added.

Therion shook his head, his shoulders having slowly tensed through the entire conversation.  

“Oh, look at the time,” Erhardt said after checking his phone to see if Olberic had texted him back.  “You’re working today, aren’t you, Therion?”

Only the smallest flash of bewilderment crossed Therion’s face before he said, “Yeah.”

“We’re getting close to when you need to be at the Coffee Monster, if I remember what you told me of your schedule correctly.  You should head out. I’ll walk with you for a little bit, as I have a client in that direction anyway.”

None of what Erhardt said were lies, so none of the others could call him on it.  

Erhardt stood and returned the chair he had borrowed, and Therion scooted his way out.  He was wearing torn jeans and white-faded-gray sneakers.

“Thank you for letting me use the chair!” Erhardt called out before gesturing Therion to precede him out.  “Shall we?”

Therion nodded slightly and left, Erhardt only a step or two behind.  They exited the Gallery, hung a right, and began to walk towards the cafe.  

The day was nice enough, even if it was a bit humid.  

“I’m glad I used as much hairspray as I did,” Erhardt said aloud.  “My hair would be completely flat otherwise.”

That earned him a quiet, derisive snort before they lapsed into silence.  

“You’ll use everything I said to protect Cordelia, right?” Therion eventually asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Erhardt nodded.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Primrose takes up temporary residence with Cordelia and Heathcote finally caves and allows the Institute to use the Ravus manor as a dorm and base of operations in southern Osterra.”

“That won’t matter,” Therion said.  “Darius will find a way around it.”

“Heathcote used to be in special ops,” Erhardt said.  “He might not be up to what he was in his prime, but he won’t make things easy.”

Therion shook his head.  “No, you don’t--” Therion stopped himself and sighed.  “I don’t know how you’re going to stop him. I don’t think you  _ can _ stop him.”

Erhardt didn’t bother to respond.

As they waited  at a traffic light, Erhard said, “Can I give you a hug?”

Therion blinked.  “What.”

“Can I give you a hug?  You look like you need one.”

“I do  _ not _ need a hug,” Therion replied firmly.  

“Then a pat on the head?”

“That’s even worse!”

“I’ll settle for a side-hug.”

“I’m fine.”

After a small silence, Erhardt spoke:  “I see his ghost sometimes, you know. Werner’s, I mean.”

Therion frowned at the change in topic.  “Oh?”

“He was to me what Darius is to you. Picked me up when I was vulnerable, lavished with attention, gave me and my brother a home, safety.  All he asked was that I bring in money with my body. 15 was relatively young, but that simply meant I could be trained.”

The light for the crosswalk changed and they continued onward.  

“How did you escape?” Therion asked softly.

“I grabbed anything I could carry, which included dragging my brother behind me, and ran.  Riverford to Orewell. Orewell to Quarrycrest. Quarrycrest to Boulderfall, Swaarki, Flamesgrace, Atlasdam, Noblecourt.  Finding the dark corners and pulling in customers long enough to gather enough money to move on to the next city. I wanted to get as far from Riverford as I possibly could.  I knew he wouldn’t chase me--he had found other, more profitable methods of income--but there was always the  _ fear _ .  Fear that he would catch up with me, take my brother away, bring me back to Riverford and make a very public statement of me.  Everyone in town knew about the business he ran, but they hung any prostitutes they came across as a...moral deterrent.”

Therion was silent for almost the entire rest of the way before he said, “Mr. Eisenberg cares for you.”

That sent a giddy little thrill through Erhardt.  “And I care for him.”

“And he...knows?  Knew?”

“Yes.”

“How did you tell him?”

“In tears and panic when I found out that Werner  _ had _ actually tracked me down and threatened Leon’s life.”

“Oh.  And did he...back then, did he still love you?  Or is that why…?”

“No, our relationship ended for different reasons.  In fact, back then he helped me ensure that Werner wouldn’t be physically able to hurt me, Leon, or anyone else ever again.”

Therion watched the pavement as they walked, clearly thinking.  

“Cordelia is a spit-fire, and Eliza and Primrose have both taught her a few things.  Trust her strength as well as your own,” Erhardt said as they reached the Coffee Monster.  He took out his business card case, retrieved a card, and extended it to Therion. “Just in case.”

“Of what?”

“You never know,” Erhardt said and gave Therion a flirtatious smile.  “Take care, Therion. We’re interested in bringing our...mutual acquaintance...to his knees.  Now, I see Cordelia in there. Chin up, shoulders back. Walk in with confidence and give her that tiny smirk of yours before focusing on your job.  If she orders something, wait a little bit before letting go of her cup. Don’t say anything to her, though. Your silence lets her imagination run wild.”

Therion momentarily stared at Erhardt before scoffing and turning to the shop.

He did, however, put Erhardt’s business card in his back pocket.

About an hour later, Erhardt got a text from Cordelia that read:

-WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM YOU ASSHOLE I HATE YOU

Erhardt snickered.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like remembering to update consistently. Having a very large buffer helps. I do want to mention that I've mucked with ages a little bit for a few of the characters, but only by a few years, so nothing about their personalities should change drastically.
> 
> As always, nothing Octopath Traveler belongs to me.

It had been an  _ exceedingly _ long weekend, long enough that Erhardt only got back to his  _ actual  _ home at 4PM on Monday, and he was looking forward to crashing until he naturally woke up.  Unfortunately, there was a moving truck in front of his brownstone, which caused him to grimace.  

_ Moving in or moving out, there’s going to be a lot of noise and people, neither of which I need.  Hopefully they’re almost done, _ he thought as he trotted up the steps to the front door.  It was already propped open, and Erhardt briefly wanted to shut it fully, if just to cause momentary inconvenience out of sheer  _ spite _ .

He wasn’t feeling like that much of a dick, however, and simply let it close as far as it was propped open.  He took the stairs slowly, his lower back hurting slightly from nights in too-tight shoes and too-vigorous sex.  

He managed to get his keys in the lock after two attempts, opened his door, and then locked it behind him once it was shut.  His shoes went into the shoe rack near his door, and he hooked his bag on the coat rack. He shed clothes as he walked to his bedroom and picked out his most comfortable pajamas--the ones that were just a little too large and felt like a warm hug when he wore them--instead of his normal sweatpants, then half-collapsed in his bath once the water was run and he had removed all his makeup and jewelry.  

_ I still work too hard on weekends, _ Erhardt thought as he sunk into the scented water.   _ I should take one weekend off each month, just to piss people off and hide from the world.  Maybe I would actually start  _ cooking _ again. _

He soaked until he realized he ran the risk of falling asleep and drowning, so drained the tub, took a brisk shower to scrub himself of the weekend and wash all the hair spray out of his hair, then changed into his pajamas.  As he was about to wander into his bedroom and pull the blackout curtains, there was a polite, tentative knock on his door.

Erhardt groaned softly, but tied his damp hair back and wandered over to the door.  He was only halfway to respectable, but that was more than most people, so he figured he was coming out at least slightly ahead.  No one in the building bothered him unless absolutely necessary, so it was probably something fairly important.  

“Right now, though, if it’s anything less than ‘the building is burning down’...” Erhardt grumbled before unlocking and opening his door.

Olberic was standing on the other side, and his expression changed from polite neutrality to bewilderment when he saw Erhardt.  He was also holding Erhardt’s keys in his left hand.  

After a moment of strange silence, Olberic cleared his throat and said, “You...left your keys in the door.  I thought I should return them to you.” 

“Thanks,” Erhardt responded and took the keys out of Olberic’s hand.  Even though the man had seen him in similar pajamas before, it felt worse than being caught naked.  He could at least pull that off--fluffy pajamas were a slightly more difficult sell.  

Part of Erhardt wanted to ask Olberic into his apartment because he wanted someone to cuddle with; another part of him wanted to slam the door and retreat under his covers in embarrassment.  

So, instead, he asked: “What are you doing here?”

“Moving in,” was Olberic’s response.

“Oh.  Which apartment?”

“Twenty-two…”

“Next door.  Of course,” Erhardt sighed.  “I’d offer to help, but…”

“You’re too pretty and look tired,” Olberic finished.  “I’m done anyway, don’t worry.” He reached out and lightly nudged Erhardt back into his own apartment and said, “Get some sleep.” 

Erhardt caught Olberic’s hand before he could stumble back too far into his apartment and pulled Olberic a little ways inside with him.  

“I need non-sexual touch,” he murmured.  “I bet you’re tired from lugging furniture and whatever you do when actually moving yourself into your own apartment.  Stay with me.”

Olberic’s expression softened.  “Are you sure?”

“To be a little more juvenile, I need cuddles and you’re very good at that.”

Olberic’s small, gentle smile made Erhardt’s heart skip a beat.  “I just need to wash off all the grime.”

“Then go do that and...promise you’ll come back?”

“Yes,” Olberic said, his voice low and warm.  

“You better.”

Erhardt let go of Olberic’s hand, who pulled away and closed Erhardt’s door for him.

_ Did you really just invite Olberic into your personal apartment on a whim because you just want to feel his arms around you?   _ Really,  _ Erhardt? _ Erhardt thought and scowled at his door.  He wandered away and fussed with his apartment and bedroom until he deemed it to be presentable to other humans.  The knock at his door was a little more assured, and Erhardt looked through the peep-hole to see a surprisingly nervous-looking Olberic on the other side.

Erhardt opened the door and gestured Olberic in.  

Olberic stepped in and gave the room the same treatment he had the loft, but his expression softened quickly.  Olberic looked comfortable in a pair of grey sweatpants and a black sweatshirt whose sleeves had been cut off, which gave a fairly clear view of his lats and quite a number of scars that piqued Erhardt’s interest.  Olberic’s hair was still slightly damp, and he had walked over in a rather cute pair of bunny slippers.  

“I thought the loft felt sterile,” he murmured as Erhardt closed and locked the door.  “Thank you for letting me into your--”

Before Olberic could finish his statement, Erhardt had stepped into his back and wrapped his arms around Olberic’s torso, resting his chin on Olberic's left shoulder.

“That kind of weekend, huh?” Olberic asked, placing his hands on top of Erhardt's. 

“Just not a lot of rest,” Erhardt murmured.

Olberic hummed. “Do you want me to give you a piggy-back ride to your bedroom?”

“Really?” Erhardt said, incredulous.

“Yes.”

“You're sure?”

“Trust my strength.”

“If you say so…”

Erhardt could only laugh when it turned out that Olberic was indeed capable of carrying him. He buried his face in the crook of Olberic's neck and took in a deep breath, strangely still comforted by the scent of the man. 

“I can tell where you spend most of your time,” Olberic said, and Erhardt smiled against Olberic’s skin.

Erhardt would fully admit that his personal bedroom was the one place he slacked when it came to keeping everything in order. His bed was perpetually unmade, it took a while for his clothes to migrate to the laundry basket, and his closet mostly consisted of athleisure wear, sweatshirts and sleepwear. If he was  _ home _ , he was usually alone and looked good if he chose to, and always only for himself. His bedroom windows were lined with succulents and other plants that only sometimes required his care, and blackout curtains hung on either side of each. An AC unit was lodged into one of the windows, relatively new and utterly reliable. A mirror was set above a vanity where the few cosmetics and jewelry Erhardt kept with him were scattered.  There was a solid-color maroon rug underneath the king-sized bed, and the walls had been painted into fantastic patterns and colors by the same friend he had asked to do one wall in his living room, although the colors in his room were all cool blues, greens, purples, delicate neutrals, and the occasional splash of red because, of course. He had a few photographs and art pieces hung on the walls that he had bought from the occasional street artist who caught his eye.  And, tucked against a pillow of his own, was Mr. Fluff, the dog stuffed animal that had managed to survive three decades with Erhardt, although there had been occasional refurbishing required. 

Erhardt was placed gently down on the mattress and he let go of Olberic. 

Olberic turned and didn't bother to hide his smile. “Will Mr. Fluff still let me sleep in the same bed as you? I know he can be quite protective.”

Erhardt felt his face grow hot and he muttered, “There is now enough space for both of you.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Olberic said and sat down next to Erhardt. “To be safe, I think you should take the middle of the bed. That way we can both hug you.”

Erhardt didn't want to cry, but he was  _ tired _ and Olberic  _ remembered  _ and wasn't being an asshole, so it was a struggle.

Erhardt crawled up to the pillows and settled himself comfortably before Olberic joined him, and pulled the covers over them both in the process. 

Once Olberic was lying down, Erhardt turned into Olberic’s body and slipped his arm across Olberic’s chest, scooting until he had his head even with Olberic’s.  

“I hope you don’t mind staying with me until I wake up, since I don’t think I’m getting up until tomorrow morning,” Erhardt murmured.

Olberic gently stroked Erhardt’s hair and said, “I have nowhere to be, Erhardt.  Moving in was all I had planned for today anyway. At least this way I get to sleep in a comfortable bed that’s already all set up and with rather nice company instead of surrounded by boxes.”

“Rather nice, he says,” Erhardt said and closed his eyes.  “Thank you.”

“Trust me, it’s no trouble.”

Erhardt mumbled something that was only partly coherent, exhaustion from a long weekend pulling him into sleep.

\--

As he woke, Erhardt was momentarily confused by the presence of another body in the bed at his  _ home. _   No one knew where he  _ actually  _ lived, not even Leon.  So, who the hells would he have willingly brought into his sanctuary?

“You’re awake?”

Erhardt momentarily didn’t breathe before he opened his eyes to see a still sleepy-looking Olberic lying next to him.  

“Sort of?” Erhardt murmured, his heart skipping a beat at Olberic’s  _ presence _ .  “What time is it?”

“It’s about 7AM.”  
  
Erhardt closed his eyes again and curled into Olberic’s body.  “7AM is too early to be up on a day off.”

Olberic carefully stroked Erhardt’s back and asked, “What time do you usually get up on a day off?”

“Ten?  Eleven? Something like that.”

Olberic snorted and gently pulled Erhardt a little closer.

_ It could have been like this, _ Erhardt thought as he breathed in Olberic.   _ For the past eight years, it could have been like this.  Instead...  _

“I know what you’re thinking, Erhardt,” Olberic murmured.  “And it’s not worth wondering.”

“Oh?  What am I thinking?” Erhardt asked, pulling back enough to be on eye level with Olberic.

“The same thing I did when I woke up with you in my arms,” Olberic murmured softly.  “Is this what it would have been like, the past eight years? Waking up in the morning listening to your occasional soft, cute snores in the predawn, breathing in your scent--and your hair--and feeling...warm?”

“Maybe it would have,” Erhardt said.  “Of course, it’s also entirely possible that I would wake you up by giving you head because I couldn’t stand how lucky I was waking up to such a strong, handsome man beside me every time I came home.”

Olberic smiled slightly, a delightfully mischievous glint to his eye.  “And what exactly is stopping you from doing that now?”

Erhardt hadn’t thought it was possible for him to go from sleepy to Down To Fuck in the space of a few seconds, but it apparently was.  

“Because I’m not sure you’d  _ let _ me,” Erhardt said and tangled his fingers in the drawstrings of Olberic’s sweatpants, pulling his hips closer.  “But if you want me to take care of your morning wood, I  _ most certainly _ will.”

This was part of the game they had played off and on for the past few weeks or so each time they ‘happened’ to cross paths or via text message.  Circling each other and coming tantalizingly close, but backing away at the last second, a tease and denial that Erhardt was familiar with and enjoyed employing when with clients.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Olberic murmured.

Erhardt gave him a languid, salacious smile and said, “Let me tell you what I’d do first, and then you can tell me whether or not you want me to follow through.”

Erhardt leaned in and outlined in  _ painstaking _ detail everything he wanted to do to Olbreic, holding Olberic’s eyes--and the drawstrings on his sweatpants--the entire time.  It was a thrill to watch the expressions that passed across Olberic’s face, from how his eyes went from brown to nearly black, to the slow progression of a blush across his face and down his neck.  Erhardt reveled in each obvious shiver, in the change in the pace of Olberic’s breathing, in the quiet, near-moans that escaped Olberic from time to time. Olberic’s hand very slowly closed into a fist on Erhardt’s lower back, a tiny patch of skin on his back exposed from how Olberic had caught some of the fabric of Erhardt’s pajamas in his grip.  

Erhardt’s body tingled pleasantly in anticipation.  He  _ knew _ that if Olberic kissed him, that it wouldn’t stop there, but  _ he _ wasn’t going to be the one to initiate sex.  That was on Olberic, as Erhardt had promised.    

It was still incredibly tempting to just shift his hand a little bit and either slip his hand down the sweatpants or just palm Olberic’s  _ obvious  _ erection through the cloth.

Once Erhardt had spun out the scenario out to its inevitable conclusion, the words--and a very strong scent of arousal--hung between them.  

“If I recall correctly, you were always in need of care yourself after treating me to that kind of pleasure,” Olberic murmured, his voice a little rougher and deeper in a way that sent thrills through Erhardt.  “I may not have the kind of experience or expertise that you do, but, perhaps you’d be interested in hearing what I would like to do to you?”

_ I would much rather have you  _ do _ it, but gods, yes, even this is wonderful, _ Erhardt thought as his stomach twisted in anticipation.   _ It gives my dreams so much  _ explicit _ material. _

“And what exactly would you do, Olberic?  How would you choose to... _ reward _ me?”

Olberic’s breath caught and his eyes fluttered shut briefly before he leaned in close enough that they were  _ almost _ kissing and began to outline in beautiful, bold descriptions just what he would  _ do _ to Erhardt’s body.  

By the time Olberic was done, Erhardt was pretty sure that he had never been so aroused in his life, and that was saying quite a bit.  Olberic didn’t seem to be faring any better, however, from how many times he had  _ nearly _ kissed Erhardt only to force himself to pull back.  

“Gods, Erhardt,” Olberic whispered.  “I didn’t think I could ever want anyone this badly.”

“You truly were... _ inspired _ ,” Erhardt purred and tangled his fingers in Olberic’s hair.  He loved how fluffy it was when Olberic didn’t put whatever  _ garbage _ he used in his hair.   _ I am going to throw all of it out if he ever invites me into his apartment. _   “Now, we have only about four options here, as far as I can see.”

“Hm?”

“We have anal sex.  We have oral sex. We masturbate together.  We masturbate in our individual apartments. Admittedly, I would prefer you and I do things  _ together _ , but…”

Olberic groaned softly and Erhardt felt a giddy thrill at how Olberic’s hips twitched  _ just _ a little.  “ _ Erhardt _ .”

“So, which one will it be?” Erhardt asked, making sure that he had shifted just enough that his lips brushed Olberic’s with every movement.  “Together...or separate?”

“I want…” Olberic started and trailed his fingertips along the curve of Erhardt’s face, down his throat, and rested on the first button of Erhardt’s pajamas.  “I  _ want _ to make love to you, Erhardt Bastralle.  But I’m afraid that if I do…”

“...that it will kill  _ us _ before we even get off the ground,” Erhardt replied, a tinge of sadness cutting into his arousal.

“Yes,” Olberic whispered.

“Well, then.  I have today to myself.  The Pig and Whistle serves breakfast and you said you take the afternoon shift.  If I can’t convince you to fuck me senseless, let’s go have breakfast together. I don’t have anything in my apartment anyway, and I doubt you have done much grocery shopping yet.  While I would  _ like _ to satisfy one hunger before tending to the other, it’s entirely up to you.”

Olberic gave him a soft smile that made Erhardt’s stomach feel strange.  

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Olberic asked.

“I...yes?  Yes, I suppose I am.  Would you like to go on a breakfast date with me, Olberic?”

“I’d love to,” Olberic replied, and Erhardt’s skin prickled at the warmth in Olberic’s tone.  It was different from the kind of heat that Erhardt was used to--it was something  _ bizarre _ , and Erhardt wasn’t sure that he liked it, even as he found himself fighting down a gods-damned  _ blush _ .  

“Still need to take care of the problem in our pants,” Erhardt pointed out.  

“Which I’m sure you’re more than capable of handling on your own,” Olberic said and Erhardt groaned unhappily.

“ _ Ol-ber-ic, _ ” he whined as Olberic sat up.  Erhardt clung to his waist from behind--although was considerate enough to keep his hands up higher than normal--and kept Olberic sitting.  “Why? Give me  _ one  _ good reason why we can’t have wild, uninhibited sex in my bed.  You know I’ll make it worthwhile.”

“Because I am a hopeless romantic and want to be absolutely certain that I  _ love _ you as much as I  _ want _ you,” Olberic said.

Erhardt scowled into Olberic’s sweatshirt.  Erhardt was discovering that he was either a relatively simple man when it came to emotions or he was so inept at handling them that he couldn’t figure out how to properly distinguish between them.

_ I wouldn’t be completely surprised if I’m emotionally stunted, _ he thought.   _ I should talk to Leon about this. _

“Fine,” Erhardt grumbled and released Olberic.

“Additionally, the feast of Bifelgan is in two days and Theo will be visiting with Cecily and Ned,” Olberic said and stood.  “I’d like you to meet him.”

“You would?” Erhardt asked, still lying down--and sulking--on the bed.  “Why?” 

“Because I’ve found that children’s snap-judgments are less biased than adults’, so if  _ he _ likes you…and because he’s my family.  Thus, he  _ should _ know you if we...if we’re going to be anything more.”

Erhardt wasn’t sure whether he should feel worried or flattered, so simply nodded.  “Okay. Let me...let me finish myself off to fantasies of you and then I’ll get changed into respectable clothes and we’ll go out on our date.  How does that sound?”

“Wonderful,” Olberic responded.  Erhardt wanted to throw a pillow at Olberic for the smallest of smug smiles that formed on his face.  “I’ll see you soon.”

“Fucking  _ hate _ him,” Erhardt growled as Olberic left.  Erhardt squirmed out of his pajamas, and it took embarrassingly few strokes to make himself come.  

_Hate_ _him,_ Erhardt growled to himself again.

Erhardt rolled out of his bed, cleaned himself up, and stared in his closet.  He wanted to look nice for Olberic, wanted to make him  _ regret _ not having sex with him, but he didn’t have that kind of clothing in his  _ home _ .  He dug through his closet until he found a skin-tight red-to-black ombre tank top and a pair of loose, light, black jogging pants.  It was too hot for any kind of sweatshirt anymore. After pulling on compression underwear to try to attempt to tame any spontaneous erections he might get around Olberic and changing into the rest of his clothing, he put in his ruby earrings, pulled his hair into a ponytail, tamed his bangs with red, glittered hair-clips, and found his designer sneakers. He looked at himself in his mirror, paused, then put on the most subtle lip gloss he possessed. 

_ There. Nothing fancy, but it looks nice, _ he decided. He grabbed his all-purpose purse and checked that it had the essentials. When he stepped out his door, it was to find Olberic waiting in a blue-camo muscle T-shirt and loose khaki shorts. 

"I hate you," Erhardt hissed as he shoved down a  _ potent _ spike of desire, although he didn’t miss the appreciative look he received from Olberic. 

"Shall we?" Olberic asked, far too amused. 

Erhardt nodded and went down the stairs before Olberic. He opened the door, but refused to hold it for Olberic, letting it nearly slam shut on him; Olberic laughed quietly as he joined Erhardt on the sidewalk.

"You've patronized the Pig and Whistle, right?" Erhardt asked as he began to walk towards the restaurant. 

"When you recommended it, I tried it again," Olberic replied. "I understand  _ why _ you like it. Great food, fast service, friendly people, and always crowded. I imagine you can just melt into anonymity, and if you pay cash, no one knows who you are."

Erhardt smiled wryly. "Exactly. Breakfast is usually busy with take-out, so we should get a seat."

"Yes," Olberic murmured. " _ We _ should get a seat."

Olberic's emphasis on the plural made Erhardt's skin prickle. 

"May I…hold your hand?" Erhardt asked as they waited at a crosswalk. 

Olberic stared at Erhardt for a beat, clearly taken off guard. Erhardt was surprised by the blush that spread across Olberic's face before Olberic offered his hand. Erhardt took it with a reassuring smile and interlaced their fingers before tugging him gently onward. 

7:45AM was early for most commuters, but the night shift and early risers were crowding the Pig and Whistle when they arrived. Erhardt pulled Olberic inside and gave the hostess one of his most charming smiles. "Have any tables for two available?" 

The hostess clearly recognized him from his previous visits, as she smiled back. "I'm sure we can find one."

 She picked up two menus and gestured they follow her. Erhardt refused to let go of Olberic's hand as they trailed along behind her, and she showed them to one of the quieter parts and a two-person booth. 

"Someone will be with you shortly," she said after placing their menus on the table.

"Thank you," Erhardt said cheerfully before finally letting go of Olberic's hand to sit down. 

"I've been meaning to thank you," Olberic said once he had settled himself. 

"For what?" Erhardt asked incredulously and put his purse beside him as he sat across from Olberic. 

"For inviting me into your  _ home _ . I imagine that isn’t something you do for just anyone."

"No, it isn’t. You...are actually the only other person who knows that I live there."

"Really? Then...thank you for trusting me that much."

"I was exhausted and just needed someone who didn’t expect anything from me," Erhardt said with a shrug.  "And I suppose...that you make me feel safe."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Olberic’s expression softened into something warm and gentle, and he gave Erhardt a smile that left Erhardt  _ flustered _ .  No one had  _ looked _ at him like that before.

“Welcome to the Pig and Whistle, my name is Gloria,” said a surprisingly chipper young woman.  “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Water,” Erhardt and Olberic both replied.  Erhardt wasn’t a huge fan of diner coffee and Olberic seemed somehow naturally alert.

“Got it.  Do you need more time to look at the menu?”

“Yes,” Erhardt responded.

“Alright, I’ll be back with your waters,” she said before leaving them.

“Erhardt?” Olberic said after actually opening the menu.

“Yes?” Erhardt said as he quickly scanned through.

“I remember you saying...that we could exchange stories.”

Erhardt looked up.  “Of course! I have hundreds I could tell.”

“I think I’d like that.”

Erhardt smiled.  “I would, too. We have a lot to catch up on, because...I do want to hear stories from your childhood, too, and I’ll tell you ones from mine.”

Olberic looked away, but eventually nodded.  “I agree.”

After a pause, Erhardt said, “A lot of my stories either end in or include sex.  Are you okay with that? I  _ am _ an escort--I’m still booked for my carnal capabilities, although I am more employed for social functions anymore.  If we...if we  _ are _ going to be something, you’re going to have to come to terms with the fact that my body will never belong to you alone.  If you can’t...well, I’ll figure out a way to just be your friend.”

_ Even if it kills me, _ Erhardt thought.

Olberic was silent and thoughtful until the waitress returned with their waters.  

“Do you know what you’d like?” she asked as she flipped over to a new sheet on a notepad.

“I’d like the egg white florentine omelette, rye toast, please,” Erhardt said.

Olberic coughed to hide a laugh and said, “I’d...like the pancake special.”

_ Which has three kinds of meat, two eggs, and three pancakes,  _ Erhardt thought, and the waitress seemed to be just as amused.  

Once she left, Olberic turned to Erhardt and said, “Egg whites, Erhardt?”

“You know, if you wanted to eat meat, I would have happily complied earlier,” Erhardt drawled, which made Olberic cough on his water, although his eyes were laughing.

 A comfortable silence fell between them before Olberic nodded.  “I am...still a jealous and possessive lover, and freely admit that it is a character flaw.  However...you are doing your  _ job _ , you make exceptionally good money, and you make other people happy and give them pleasure in a world that is very often cruel.  It would be wrong of me to  _ not _ accept your profession.”  A small smile briefly crossed his face.  “And, anyway, your stories will give me something to...look forward to.”

Erhardt returned the smile with a languid, salacious grin. “You  _ do  _ remember that I’m incredibly inventive, right?  Bathroom stalls are a bit cramped, but I’ve learned...techniques...to make use of even such a small space.”

“Have you now?”

Erhardt leaned in and dropped his voice to a near-whisper.  “I’m a member of the mile-high club, you know. About four times over.  Private jet, business class, first class, and one of those  _ tiny _ airplane bathrooms during a time I sat with a client in coach.  International, red-eye flights can be  _ so _ boring...”

Olberic’s lips twitched into the smallest of lustful smirks.  “The cafe’s bathroom isn’t that large, you know…”

“Is that a challenge?”

“It’s a...suggestion.”

_ Holy fucking shit, I think he just said he’d be okay with having sex in the bathroom at his cafe and  _ hell _ yes, _ Erhardt thought.

Erhardt’s smile became slightly evil.  “One that I will most certainly keep in mind.”  Erhardt paused. “But since I do like coming here, I’d rather not get kicked out for having sex in  _ their _ bathroom.  However, I do have an interesting story I can tell you about one of my international trips.  I was attending to a woman whose former-fiance had eloped with one of her bridesmaids; she still had the tickets to her honeymoon destination, however, and they were non-refundable, so she needed someone to go with her.  As I’m one of...two?...male escorts who are willing to book multi-night jobs, she chose me.”

“Not a friend?”

Erhardt shook his head.  “Most of her male friends were mutuals with her former-fiance and she wasn’t in the mood to go with one of her girl friends.  This was about...five years ago, so my rates were within reason for more people.” Erhardt paused. "We met before she placed the down payment on my services. If someone is going to be traveling overseas with me and sharing a room for an extended period of time, I always meet with them first. No one ever expected  _ me _ ," Erhardt said and gestured to himself, "even though I make sure to give plenty of pictures for use by the Institute. I believe her greeting to me was, "What products do you use on your hair?""

Olberic chuckled softly.

"It took half of our flight for her to fully relax around me. She wasn’t the smartest woman, but she had a large heart and was determined to enjoy herself; she was feeling a bit burned and undesirable, though--thus, my presence. I am passably-fluent in the languages of the countries that I visit most often, so I’d be able to make sure she wasn’t conned or hurt anymore than she already was.  Unfortunately, being able to understand usually landed me and my companion in more mischief rather than less.”

“I suppose you would be able to know if people were talking about you that way, but I can see how  _ knowing _ would be as difficult a conundrum as not,” Olberic murmured.

Erhardt nodded.  “We were traveling through all the tourist traps--although I did manage to keep her from buying anything truly useless or that we wouldn’t be able to bring through customs--and happily ‘lost,’ which was a lie, as I know the layout of most cities if just so I know where  _ not _ to go.  She decided to ask directions from a local, as I was deliberately being unhelpful, since I wanted her to interact with more people than just me and go home with some stories that she could brag about to her friends.”  Erhardt smiled wryly. “Well, the conversation she had most  _ certainly _ gave her a story.  The young man she approached was handsome, and both she and I had overheard him speaking our language fluently, albeit with an attractive accent, so we knew he’d be able to help us.  He seemed...surprised...to be approached by someone for something as  _ mundane _ as directions, and it took me about half a minute of them conversing to place his face--my client was talking to the Crown Prince of the country.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

“I know the names and faces of every notable noble and influential politician in this world, if just so I know around whom I have to doubly watch my words and flirting.  I could see a security detail hiding in the crowd, but clearly they thought neither of us were a threat. At least, not until the Crown Prince offered to help guide us and show us some of the more off-the-beaten-path sites.  She and I received an exclusive tour of the city and were allowed to cut lines and see a few things that we really shouldn’t have, but the two were clearly smitten with each other. It was...amusing, being a pseudo-chaperone.  I couldn’t  _ leave _ her contractually and the Prince seemed to come to the conclusion that I was acting as  _ her _ bodyguard, so my presence was tolerated without protest.  I thoroughly enjoyed flirting with some of  _ his _ security, though.  I successfully made at least two of them blush and question their sexuality.”

“Hold on,” Olberic said.  “I think...was the woman’s name Noelle?”

“Yes,” Erhardt said.

"I know who you’re talking about now.  I remember that being in the news!” Olberic said, laughing softly.  “Cecily found it hilarious and ironic that a jilted bride would find new love in such  a manner. Your part never came up in it, however.”

“I believe I claimed to merely be her friend or travel guide,” Erhardt said.  “I could only imagine the shitstorm that would have occurred had I admitted to being an escort.  The two likely wouldn’t be married.”

“Just how often have you had dealings with royalty?”

“Often enough, although not nearly to the same extent as a courtesan or actor.  I’m a tad too recognizable these days.”

Olberic shook his head, bemused.  “You’ve always been  _ recognizable _ .  It’s merely that people now know who you are as well as what you look like.”  He paused. "I'm sure there are pictures or something. Shall we take a look?"

"What?" Erhardt said, curious, as Olberic took out his phone. "I  _ wasn’t _ invited to the wedding, you know."

"Doesn’t mean that someone didn’t catch you or that she didn’t post vacation photos."

Erhardt found himself losing the fight against a smile. He knew he was sometimes unbearably vain, but the one thing he  _ didn’t _ do was look up pictures of himself.  "In that case, there may be too many."

Olberic gave him a quick, wry smile before it shifted quickly to displeasure as he scrolled. Erhardt watched Olberic's frown turn into a scowl before he put his phone away with a sharp, angry, near- _ growl _ . "Later. For now, I’ll exchange a tale of royalty for royalty.  Even if my family didn’t like me, I was friends with the children of the Hornburg royal family.  I was the same age as the princess and about two years younger than the prince. One day, when the princess and I were about ten, we decided to play at being ‘spies’ that her parents were always worried about and...may have uncovered a few scandals and secrets in the process.”

“Oh?”

"We spent the day looking for hidden passages, paintings with the eyes cut out, levers in bookshelves that opened to mysterious rooms. We snuck around in black clothes and spoke in a code we made up on the fly. The employees always spoke freely among each other, and they told Cristina and me 'secrets' and 'clues’; one of them actually  _ was _ a spy and tried to use us to expose a  _ different _ spy. In the process, we interrupted two different couples trying to have sex, one of them being an illicit romance between two noble houses that caused  _ quite _ the fuss, since each claimed that they were doing, ah,  _ intelligence work _ .”

“And I’m sure that the only investigative work they were actually doing was on each other’s bodies, right?” Erhardt drawled.

“Oh, most definitely,” Olberic agreed.

As Olberic continued his story, Erhardt found himself smiling more easily than he had in  _ years, _ and it felt wonderful.  The low, gentle warmth that gradually bloomed in Olberic’s eyes as he held Erhardt's also did odd things to Erhardt’s heart, but it wasn’t a  _ bad _ feeling.  Just unusual.  

“What story can I remember from when I was ten?” Erhardt mused once Olberic had finished his story.

Their food came as he was thinking, and Erhardt was reminded  _ why _ he enjoyed the Pig and Whistle--the food really was exceptional for the place being little better than a diner.

“I’ll tell you about Leon’s first swimming lesson.  I was 10 and he was 5,” Erhardt decided after they ate in silence for a while.  “I was at the swimming lesson, of course, and  _ had _ to show off for my little brother so that he could see that swimming was easy and fun.  He is more of a natural to water than I am, but I had to prove I was just as good, since I was, after all, his  _ older brother. _ ”

During the telling, Erhardt briefly worried that he would have to save Olberic from choking from how often he laughed.

“You sound  _ adorable _ ,” Olberic said after he had managed to get his food down the right pipe.  He reached across the table and gently ran his fingers through Erhardt’s hair to eventually cup his cheek.  “You were a little priss even at ten.”

Erhardt shrugged and gave Olberic a lop-sided smile before turning his face into Olberic’s palm and pressing a gentle kiss to his skin.  

Olberic smiled back before pulling his hand away.  “Do you still know how to swim?”

“Yes,” Erhardt said.  “It’s one of the better forms of exercise and I get to show off my body in a bathing suit.  What’s not to like?”

“What’s not to like indeed,” Olberic murmured, and Erhardt snickered at the absent look and mild blush that briefly crossed Olberic’s face.

“We should take a vacation together down to the seashore,” Erhardt said.  “I would love being your arm-candy for a few days and sex in the ocean is surprisingly fun.  Less strain on the muscles because of a little extra buoyancy, although it’s better to apply lube when on land....”

Olberic looked more intrigued than Erhardt had thought he’d be, and the thought of applying suntan lotion to Olberic’s body sent a long, slow shiver through Erhardt.

“Are you still working on your food?” Gloria, their waitress, asked as she stopped by their table.

“Yes, I’m not quite done yet,” Erhardt said, since he still had half of both his toast and omelette left.  

“Same,” Olberic replied. 

“Okay!  I’ll come by later,” she responded with a smile before leaving.

Olberic paused, then looked to Erhardt.  “I’ll tell you about Theo’s first swim lesson.  Cecily, Ned, and I all agreed that being able to swim is an important life skill, so we decided that he would need to know how to swim before any of us felt comfortable taking him to the shore.  Cecily and Ned needed a small break from being parents, so they left Theo with me for a week when he was around 6-and-a-half, which is when I took him to  _ his _ first swim lesson.  I was yelled at by the instructor for hovering.”

Erhardt found himself doing the very unmanly thing of  _ melting _ as he listened to Olberic’s story.  The man clearly loved Theo and sounded like a wonderful, if slightly overbearing, dad.  

“I look forward to meeting Theo,” Erhardt said once Olberic had finished his story.  “He sounds like a cute little hellion.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Olberic responded, smiling.  

Erhardt had made sure to keep eating during Olberic’s story, so when Gloria came around again, both he and Olberic had finished their breakfasts.  

“How was everything?” she asked.

“Wonderful,” Olberic responded and Erhardt nodded his agreement.  

“Great! I’ll be back with your check shortly,” she said before walking away with their dirty plates.  

“I...do need to do a bit of unpacking,” Olberic said.  “I should get at least  _ something _ done.”

“You could always do me,” Erhardt pointed out.  “I’d be more than happy to help you test your furniture to make sure nothing was broken during transportation.”

“I’m sure,” Olberic drawled, although he was clearly fighting down a smile.  

“I’d also like to exchange keys with you.”

“What?”

“I want to give you my spare key in exchange for yours.”

Olberic looked intrigued.  “Why?”

“Well, it would be good for someone else to have one in case your primary one goes missing and because, well...I would like to  _ surprise _ you from time to time, if you’ll let me.”

“Surprise me,” Olberic repeated slowly, and there was  _ definite _ interest in his tone.  

“Mmhm.”

His silence was thoughtful until Gloria returned with the check.  “Here you go! Just pay at the register.”

“Thanks,” Erhardt responded with a reflexively flirty smile that made Gloria blush a little and smile back.  

Olberic kicked him lightly under the table once Gloria was gone, which made Erhardt smirk.

“You  _ are _ a jealous person, aren’t you?” he said slyly.

“I told you--it’s a character flaw,” Olberic mumbled.  “One I’ve been  _ trying _ to fix my entire life and failing miserably.”

Erhardt took the check before Olberic could get to it and looked it over.

“We’re splitting the bill,” Olberic said.

“No, we’re not.”

“Did you bring cash?”

“I did exceptionally well in tips over the weekend and my long-term clients know I prefer cash.  So, yes. And anyway,  _ I _ was the one to ask you out, so I pay.”

“I don’t think that that is how it works.”

“It is now.”

Olberic sighed heavily.  “If you pay for this, I pay for our next date.”

“We  _ do _ have a lunch date coming up, don’t we?” Erhardt murmured.

“We do.”

There was an unpleasantly large amount of  _ surprise _ in Olberic’s voice as he repeated that.

“When you’ve gone out with someone, do you get many follow-up dates?” Erhardt asked slowly, watching Olberic as his fingers sought out the cash needed to pay for breakfast.  

“I...am not particularly adept at holding down relationships,” Olberic confessed.  “Besides Cecily, I don’t think I’ve had one that lasted longer than three months, if even that long.”

“If that’s my fault...I’m so,  _ so _ sorry,” Erhardt said.  

“You are most likely one of the  _ influences _ on my maladroitness when it comes to intimacy, but not the only reason,” Olberic said.  “My childhood did not exactly provide me with  _ good _ examples.”

“Still,” Erhardt said and reached out to place one of his hands over Olberic’s.  “I’m sorry.”

Olberic gave him the smallest of smiles before saying, “You know how you can apologize now?”

“I refuse to split the bill.”

Olberic sighed.

Erhardt stood and didn’t bother to stop himself from kissing the top of Olberic’s head before heading to the cash register to pay.

“Post workout date?” the cashier asked, clearly amused.

“There’s only one kind of  _ workout _ I want from him and he is being resistant,” Erhardt said as he handed over the payment.  “These were my only clean clothes. He’s just being an asshole and wearing something that makes my life hell.”

That earned Erhardt a short, choked laugh.  

“Good luck,” the cashier said as Erhardt was given his change.

“I’ll succeed eventually,” Erhardt responded with a wink before turning to see Olberic waiting for him at the door.

“I’m glad I can at least make your life hell, because you’re going to be the death of me,” Olberic grumbled once they were outside.  

“Oh, really now?” Erhardt asked slyly as Olberic placed a possessive arm around Erhardt’s shoulders.

“Yes.”

“So, I was thinking...since I have today off maybe I can help decorate your apartment.  I’m not helping you move furniture, but maybe I can help with hanging pictures or cleaning.  I’ve got at least somewhat of an eye for interior decorating.”

“I don’t have much to decorate with,” Olberic said.  “And you’d be...distracting.”

Erhardt smirked.  “Oh, come now. I can behave when I want to.”

“And you  _ never _ want to, at least not around me,” Olberic grumbled.

“You know you enjoy it,” Erhardt said, stepped in close, and slid his arm around Olberic’s waist.  

Olberic, again, looked a little startled at Erhardt’s touch before there was the  _ softness _  that made Erhardt’s insides squirm.  Olberic leaned over and lightly pressed a kiss to Erhardt’s temple.  

“I also need a little time to...process,” Olberic eventually said once they were within sight of their shared apartment building.

“Process?” Erhardt repeated, frowning.

“I am...I’m not sure I like how  _ fast _ I’m falling for you again,” Olberic confessed.  “There are other things, too, that I need to think about.  It will be hard enough as it is, knowing that only a  _ wall _ separates us; having you in my apartment…”

“If it makes you feel any better, I usually spend only Mondays--sometimes--and Tuesdays here.  Every other day I spend at my loft, so I won’t be  _ too _ distracting.”

“Still.  I need some time.”

“But clearly not personal space,” Erhardt quipped, which made Olberic roll his eyes.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you that your apartment can wait just a little longer?” Erhardt asked as he let go of Olberic to open the front door to the building.  

“No.  You need to rest a little more, anyway--you still look exhausted,” Olberic said as he entered before Erhardt, who held open the door for him.  

“I’m sure I can dredge up some energy if you agreed,” Erhardt said as he ascended the inside stairs to his apartment door.  “But, I’ll let you go. Just wait one moment longer so I can give you my spare key.”

“Wait, you were  _ serious? _ ” Olberic said, clearly astonished.

“Of course,” Erhardt replied and jimmied his door open.  “Now I’ll be able to call you if I need something that I left here and you’ll be able to get it to me,” Erhardt finished with a wink, which made Olberic crack a smile.  

Erhardt entered his apartment, Olberic a step behind, although Olberic stayed at the door, which he carefully closed behind him.  Three kitchen drawers later, Erhardt emerged victorious with his spare key.  

“Here,” he said and extended it to Olberic.  “For you.”

“You’re...really going to give me access to what I’m sure is your sanctuary?” Olberic asked softly, clasping Erhardt’s hand in his, not yet taking the key.  

“Well, yes,” Erhardt responded.  “You’re not moving in--I like my space too much to have a roommate--and you’re introducing me to your  _ family _ .  If you want me to be a part of your private life, it’s only right for me to offer you some of mine.”

“...thank you, Erhardt.  Really,” Olberic responded, his voice soft and warm.  He pulled his hand--and the spare key--away from Erhardt and picked out a keyring from one of his pockets.  He slipped Erhardt’s on, and removed a different set. “I didn’t have any place to hide the second set, so I kept it with me.  Here. These are  _ yours _ now.”

Olberic held out his own keys to Erhardt, who briefly had the  _ strangest _ sense of vertigo.  He had given away his sanctuary, but been given access to another’s.  It felt...significant.  

He took the keys from Olberic and turned them over in his fingers.  “Thank you. Are you  _ sure  _ I can’t--”

Erhardt lost his words when he was pulled into a slow, gentle kiss.  

_ What’s that phrase?  Something about keys and hearts, _ Erhardt thought distantly as he returned the kiss.    

“I’ve gotten quite good at cooking, so maybe once I’m fully settled, you can come over some Monday night?” Olberic said once the kiss broke.

“That sounds lovely,” Erhardt responded.  “Go organize or whatever. I’ll be here if you ever change your mind about  _ organizing _ and want to  _ orgasm _ instead.”

Olberic snorted, then treated Erhardt to a kiss that left Erhardt breathless before returning to his own apartment.

Erhardt chuckled softly as he added Olberic’s keys to his own after locking his front door.   _ I’m sure I’ve made an awful mistake, but at least it seems like it’ll be one of my better mistakes. _


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will always assert that nothing Octopath Traveler belongs to me.

Erhardt didn’t like being nervous, and the fact that he didn’t know how to dress made things exponentially worse.  He wanted to look  _ nice _ , but he didn’t know if he wanted to do handsome or beautiful.  He was meeting adults, one of whom Olberic had been  _ married _ to, but also a 9-year-old boy, and Erhardt had negligible experience with small children outside of Leon when they had both been much younger.

“Olberic, I don’t know what to  _ wear _ ,” Erhardt complained over the phone as he stood in the middle of his walk in closet at his loft.

“You’re stressing over nothing,” Olberic said from the other side.  “And Theo won’t  _ care _ about what you’re wearing.”

“Yes, but  _ I _ care.”

Olberic sighed, but the sound was affectionate.

“I also got him something small as a gift,” Erhardt said and looked at the box that rested on his bed.  “I doubt a 9 year old will truly enjoy it, but 3D puzzles are more interesting than normal ones and maybe it can be used as a bonding opportunity, or something.”

“Erhardt, you didn’t have to buy anything…”

“I want to make a good first impression and even so it’s an objectively bad gift for a child,” Erhardt responded.

“Please tell me you didn’t get Ned or Cecily anything.”

“The Feast of Bifelgan is about exchanging gifts,” Erhardt said mildly.  “Of course I did.”

“What did you get?” Olberic sighed.

“A pair of diamond stud earrings for Cecily, a nicer watch for Ned. Do you think they’ll like them?”

“Yes,” Olberic said.

“Still leaves me with the problem of what to wear!”  
  
Olberic laughed softly.

Erhardt scowled at his closet, then pulled out a few pieces of clothing.  “It’s officially too hot for pants outside of jobs. Skirt it is.”

“Red?”

“Naturally.”

“Not a mini-skirt.”

“No, but I do have red leather one that I’ve been meaning to wear…”

Erhardt liked the appreciative groan that came from Olberic.  

“Okay.  Aha! Yes, this will do,” Erhardt said and pulled out a solid red skirt with gold embroidery at the hem, a white men’s short-sleeve collared shirt, and dug out a red and gold paisley tie.  He tossed them all onto the bed, then turned to his jewelry. “Okay. I know what I’m wearing. I’m meeting you at our apartment building in...oh. I only have ten minutes?”

“I’ll come to the loft to pick you up.”

“But I need time to do my hair!”  
  
“No, you really don’t.”

“ _ Olberic _ .”

“It’s  _ fine _ , Erhardt.  Don’t worry.  I’ll see you in fifteen.”

With that, Olberic hung up, and Erhardt scowled.  “At least he’s giving me an extra five minutes. I can at least manage a touch of makeup.”

Erhardt took a quick shower--well, more of a rinse to calm himself slightly--before putting on his clothes.  He selected ruby-drop/ear cuff earrings, and a delicate, gold ruby-bangle bracelet for his jewelry, before pulling his hair up into a half ponytail and securing it in place with a gold pin.  White, low sandals and a touch of cologne and lip gloss later, and he met Olberic in the lobby of his apartment building, only five minutes late. He carried a small bag with the gifts for Olberic’s family as well as a red, cross-body purse that held his  _ special _ gift for Olberic as well as his usual supplies.

Olberic, naturally, looked much more casual in well-fitting jeans and a blue, linen button-down shirt over a white undershirt.  Erhardt was  _ very _ happy to see that Olberic had forgone the garbage hair product, and was even happier at the exasperated affection that crossed Olberic’s face.

“You’re such a peacock,” Olberic sighed before surprising Erhardt with a quick, chaste kiss in greeting.  “I swear, this isn’t a big deal.”

“I like jewelry and I’m not wearing any makeup except lip gloss.  Count yourself  _ lucky, _ ” Erhardt drawled and offered Olberic his free hand.

Olberic smiled softly and took it, intertwining their fingers.  “I count myself lucky even without that.”

“Sap,” Erhardt replied with an easy smile.

It was hotter than Erhardt preferred, but the heat was made bearable by the man at his side.

“It’s just a lunch meeting for you, Erhardt,” Olberic murmured.  “Ned and Cecily know that it’s  _ you _ , and Theo knows he’s going to be meeting an Important Person to me, but…”

“It’s more a thing for you to spend time with him, and I completely understand.  I have two parties to attend to tonight, anyway, and those  _ do _ require a great deal of prep work.”

“But, for now, you’re with me.”

“So I am.”

Noblecourt held a city-sponsored festival geared towards families for most major holidays, which was where they were meeting Cecily, Ned, and Theo.  Erhardt felt a little less pressure in such a crowd, and the likelihood of him running into  _ current _ clients was very low.  Those he would be seeing later.  

The feast of Bifelgan had gradually become geared increasingly towards children, but it still retained, at least in part, an emphasis on community.  Back in the misty past when it had first been celebrated, it was a way to generate a sense of solidarity. No one person could survive alone, and, as a Trade god, Bifelgan had deep ties to community and, to an extent, agriculture and animal husbandry.  Therefore, it was used as a time to strengthen bonds between friends, family, and society, which meant that it was a government holiday; thus, Erhardt was busy due to a copious amount of parties and events that could be hosted when people weren’t worrying about work.  Patrons often sent him gifts, and he made sure to send something to his oldest and most frequent clients. The Institute always received his yearly donation then, and he had always sent Leon at least  _ money _ , even when they weren’t on the best speaking terms.

However, the thought of so many people around them made Erhardt nervous on Olberic’s behalf.  The extent and  meaning of Erhardt’s fame hadn’t seemed to sink in yet.  Erhardt was used to attention and had become very good at discouraging or ignoring paparazzi, but he wasn’t sure how Olberic would deal with the rumor mill and intrusive behavior.  

_ Then again, if he really was part of a noble family and friends with royalty, perhaps not, _ Erhardt mused as he admired Olberic’s profile.   Olberic caught Erhardt’s gaze and looked at him, concern blooming on his face.

“Is something wrong?” Olberic asked.

“We’re going to a very public function.  Together.”

“I am aware.”

“The rest of the world is going to see you with Sir Erhardt, not Erhardt.”

“...does this have something to do with all those trash articles?”

“Well, after a manner, yes.  Being with me brings the hazards of fame.  I’m sure that soon enough you’ll be as recognized as I am--will you be okay with that?”

“They won’t think I’m just another client?”

Erhardt snorted.  “I doubt that. You don’t look like the kind of person who can afford my price point.”

“You’d be surprised,” Olberic murmured.  “I am...the only survivor of the Eisenberg main house.  That  _ technically _ makes me the heir, and I am responsible for managing the resources and properties that I was allowed to keep due to my part in the revolution.  Part of the reason why  _ I _ stay away from Hornburg is because...well, I’m as recognized there as you are recognized here.”

Erhardt blinked and filed away those fascinating pieces of information for later examination and research.  “Well, okay then. I didn’t know I was dating a celebrity, too.”

Olberic grimaced slightly.  “Celebrity? I suppose. I do my best to avoid the spotlight.”

“Which will be difficult considering how much I revel in it,” Erhardt pointed out.

A flash of surprise crossed Olberic’s face and he groaned softly.  “Damnit.”

“What?”

“I’m going to work  _ extremely  _ hard at not being jealous now, aren’t I?” Olberic grumbled.  “With you always courting attention, admiration, and desire…”

Erhardt reached over and gently patted Olberic’s cheek.  “One of the hazards of choosing to be with me. I understand if you would prefer our relationship be a purely private thing, but...it will come out, one way or another.”

Olberic sighed heavily and pulled Erhardt closer, one hand resting on Erhardt’s far hip.  Erhardt decided to be far less subtle and slipped  _ his _ hand into one of the back pockets of Olberic’s jeans.  

“You know what?  I’ll tell you that story as we walk,” Erhardt said.

“Which story?”

“The first time I had to deal with one of the ‘trash articles’.  It’s not a  _ nice _ story, but it’s still a part of my life and you need to know the bad as well as the good.”

Olberic slowly nodded.  “Okay.”

Erhardt himself had been surprised and, frankly, irritated by the first trash article, but mostly because it had been a bad picture of him.  Olberic, meanwhile, looked  _ extremely _ offended on past-Erhardt’s behalf.

“People are assholes,” Olberic growled.  

“Do you have trash article stories, if you’re just as famous in Hornburg?”

Olberic hesitated, then nodded.  “I do.”

“Want to rant about it to me?  I’m sure you simply stoic-ed your way through it and haven’t actually told anyone.”

“I don’t want to go into a celebration angry.”

“Think of it as catharsis,” Erhardt said.  “It might actually make you feel better, not worse.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“Okay,” Erhardt said with a shrug.  “I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t  _ want _ to do.  Except for me.  I will keep on asking you to do me until you actually _ do _ me.”

That made Olberic smile for a split second before he lapsed into silence as they waited at a crosswalk.  Once the light changed, Olberic said, “I was...sixteen? When the first gossip column came out about me. Thankfully, my extended family was kind enough to intercept most of it, but teenagers talk and  _ that _ gossip mill can be even more brutal…”

 By the end of Olberic’s story, Erhardt was both seething and sad.

“You know, this is one of the very few times I’m glad I  _ didn’t  _ have a semi-normal childhood,” Erhardt grumbled.  

“It’s in the past,” Olberic said and gently squeezed Erhardt in a brief hug.  “But, you’re right, actually. I feel a little better for having told you. I...didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want to be any more of a burden than I already was.”

_ You know, a part of me wants to get in touch with his extended family, if just to force them to explain themselves, _ Erhardt thought.   _ Perhaps whenever I next travel to Hornburg I’ll be able to corner one. _

“To make things a little lighter, why don’t I tell you about my very first official job as an escort?” Erhardt said aloud.  “I swear it’s funny--well, it is to me with a little over 10 years of hindsight.”  

“Please do.”

By the time they reached the park where the event was located, Olberic’s smile was easy and his eyes burned with both laughter and contained desire.

It was an odd feeling, walking into a public park and surrounded by  _ children _ and families; there was an infectiousness to the good cheer that generally permeated the air that Erhardt didn’t quite understand, which made him stick a little tighter to Olberic.  It was surprisingly difficult to dodge children who seemed intent on making hazards of themselves, and he didn’t want to be separated from Olberic in the crowd.

“There,” Olberic murmured and gestured towards a trio.

The three were clearly a family, and Erhardt already approved of Cecily's fashion sense. Anyone who enjoyed and pulled off red clothing immediately had a point towards them in Erhardt's mind. She had a lithe build, wore a red, chiffon, high-low duster, a white camisole with a gym logo printed on it, dark-washed, cropped jeans, and a red scrunchy kept her lilac-colored hair back in a ponytail, a few bangs framing her face and green eyes. Ned, meanwhile, was wearing a loose-fitting green-camo tshirt, black cargo shorts, sported a number of interesting tattoos on his muscular forearms and lower legs, and kept his dark brown hair cropped short, his brown eyes sharp and scanning the crowd.  The child between them had brown hair like his father but green eyes like his mother, and a slightly stocky build. He wore grass-stained denim shorts, a bright green tshirt with a cartoon character emblazoned on it, and black sneakers. He had the kind of smile that spoke of mischief, and seemed utterly unapologetic in the face of his mother's gentle scolding as she put a bandage on his skinned knee. 

_ I  _ am _ overdressed and do not care, _ Erhardt decided. 

"Ready?"

"Hm?"

"I figured you'd want a moment to observe before I caught their attention," Olberic commented. "Are you ready?"

Erhardt looked down at himself, debated taking off his tie, then tossed the concern aside. If Cecily and Ned knew  _ who _ was coming, they wouldn’t be surprised and Theo either wouldn’t care or it could be a point of discussion. 

"Yes," Erhardt said after running through escort protocol to calm himself. 

"Cecily!" Olberic called out, easily catching the woman's attention. 

She looked up and gave them a mischievous grin that said Theo got his personality from his mother. His mother's attention shifting away from him made Theo look where she was, and his eyes lit up at seeing Olberic. Erhardt let go of Olberic so Olberic could catch Theo and pull him up into a hug and kiss the young boy’s temple. 

"Put me down!" Theo protested and squirmed even as he laughed.

Olberic did as asked, but knelt so he remained on eye-level with Theo and started to happily chat with him.

"So, it really  _ is _ you," Cecily said as she walked up beside Erhardt. 

"So it is," Erhardt replied with an easy smile. "I'm sorry if he sprang me on you at the last moment."

"He had made vague mentions about  _ maybe  _ dating someone, and I figured that, if he was going to introduce the lucky man to Theo, it would be now," Cecily said. 

"I  _ am _ lucky," Erhardt agreed. 

"Didn’t think I'd ever be meeting someone as infamous and famous as you," Ned said and extended his hand to Erhardt, who shook it firmly. 

"Life is full of surprises," Erhardt responded. "It is my pleasure to meet you both, really. I don’t often get the chance to meet people who are important to Olberic. Ah, right. For you all," Erhardt said and held out the bag. "I have no idea what to buy a child, so included the gift receipt if you want to return it."

"But, we don’t--" Ned started, but Cecily took the bag from him. 

"Thank you," she said warmly.

"You're more than welcome," Erhardt responded. 

"...which one is mine?"

Erhardt laughed. "The smallest box. I’m glad to see you have pierced ears."

"Already giving me jewelry and we’ve just met?" she quipped and found the box. She opened it and her eyebrows shot up. "You got these from  _ where _ ?"

"I'm friends with the owner," Erhardt said with a shrug. "When I told her who I was meeting, she shoved those in my hands. Do you like them?"

"Yes!" Cecily responded and put the box back in the bag. 

"Not sure I like being so upstaged," Ned grumbled. 

"I'm an  _ escort _ \--I have a bad habit of giving jewelry as gifts because I love jewelry myself," Erhardt said. "I don’t mean any insult. I did get something for you as well."

Cecily rooted through the bag and handed him another small-ish box. 

Ned opened it with no small amount of suspicion, and his jaw dropped slightly. "This had to have cost hundreds of dollars," he said as he took out the watch. 

"I can’t put a price on how much your friendship with Olberic means to me," Erhardt said. "My gifts are paltry in comparison."

Ned had the stoicism born of military training, but his eyes were soft and Cecily gave him a warm, grateful smile. 

"I do want to hear stories, though," Erhardt said and pulled two business cards out of his purse. "I'm sure you will have a  _ different _ perspective than he does and might tell me tales he won't."

Erhardt liked the glint in Cecily's eyes and the small smirk that graced Ned's face as they took his cards. 

"Has Olberic told you about the time we took Theo to an amusement park and discovered that he can barely stand even the most gentle of roller coasters?" Cecily asked as she slid his card into her own purse.

"No, he has not," Erhardt replied, intrigued. 

"It was a special promotion, and Theo had been nagging him about going to the theme park, so Olberic caved after a prolonged campaign. We all went together, since someone would have to watch our belongings, so we alternated rides with Theo. Theo was  _ ecstatic _ when he was tall enough to ride a more 'grown up' roller coaster, and Olberic offered to go with him. However..."

By the time Cecily was done her story, both Erhardt and Ned were struggling to breathe from laughing.

"I suppose that makes sense," Ned said. "Whenever we drove anywhere on an assignment, he  _ insisted _ on being the driver. He was too agitated for any of us if we  _ didn’t _ let him drive. You know what? I'll tell you the story of an assignment we had in the Sunlands that got shot to hell. He comes out looking much better in this story, I promise--he’s the one who got us out of what could have been a complete shitshow."

Just as Ned was wrapping up his story, Olberic returned with a scowling Theo tucked under his arm. 

"What trouble did you two get into while I wasn’t looking?" Cecily drawled.  

"Well, Theo wanted something to drink, but we may have gotten roped into a game--which we won, of course," Olberic responded.

"Of course," Ned repeated.

"But then Dad was accused of cheating when he didn’t!" Theo said mulishly as Olberic put him down. "And people were mean and dumb and  _ wrong _ \--"

"And Theo may have tried to instigate a fight," Olberic cut in. 

"Please tell me you stopped him," Cecily said.

"...it was merely with foam swords?"

" _ Olberic _ ."

"No one was hurt, although it may have sparked a small tournament, which Theo eventually lost. He tried to run away from me because he was embarrassed, but I caught him before he got too far."

"...and you bought him ice cream or something for defending your honor and getting far in the tournament,  _ right _ ?" Cecily said in an exasperated pseudo-scold. 

Olberic looked chagrined. 

"It was fun, though!" Theo insisted. "And I got a prize for the game we won."

"And what did you get?" Ned asked, pulling Theo's attention to him.

"Really, Olberic?" Erhardt asked and slipped his arm around Olberic's waist as Cecily, too, listened to Theo’s tale.

"Will you believe me if I tell you that I did try my best to encourage a non-violent resolution?" Olberic asked as he pressed a kiss to Erhardt's temple and looped his arm loosely on Erhardt's shoulders, resting his hand on Erhardt's far shoulder.

"No," Erhardt responded, which made Olberic chuckle. After a small pause, Erhardt murmured, "He called you Dad."

Olberic's entire demeanor softened and he nodded. "He does. Ned is Daddy or Father, depending upon how much trouble Theo has found himself in. But, I'm...I've tried to get him to call me Olberic, but he refuses. I was only his dad for a little over three years, though, so I don't  _ understand _ his insistence."

"Maybe because he sees you as a dad in spite of it all? Three-ish to six-ish is a pretty important time, right? And it isn’t like you've just vanished. I'm sure it took a little to re-acclimate to Ned, too."

"I suppose."

"Who're you?" 

Erhardt looked to see Theo regarding him with suspicion. 

"I'm Erhardt," Erhardt said. 

"Why're you hugging Dad?"

"Because I'm his…" Erhardt stumbled over a word. He and Olberic had never decided what to call their relationship. 

"Erhardt is my Special Person," Olberic said, and shot Erhardt a quick look that asked if the term was okay. Theo probably wouldn’t understand significant other, boyfriend felt wrong, and lover carried baggage, so Erhardt nodded. "I let him hug me because I like it when he does. I hug him back because he is important to me."

"You're a man?" Theo asked, the question directed at Erhardt.

"Yes."

After a moment of slightly intrigued silence, Theo said, "Dad said he'd teach me how to tie a tie when I'm twelve. Would you teach me sooner?"

"Certainly, if you have a fancy outfit and your own tie."

" _ Erhardt. _ "

"What? it's never a bad thing to want to look handsome. In fact…" Erhardt undid his tie and squatted so he was eye-level eye level with Theo. "This is for you. if you get a fancy shirt and bring it with you the next time I see you, I'll teach you, okay? Give it to your mom right now so you don’t lose it or get it dirty."

Theo looked between Erhardt and the tie he was holding out before he nodded firmly. "Okay. Thanks."

With that, Theo took the tie from Erhardt and handed it off to his mom before being guided away by Ned to do some other activity.

Erhardt stood and smiled as Olberic pulled him into a gentle hug, Erhardt's back against Olberic's chest. 

"Well, he seems to find me inoffensive," Erhardt said after getting a covert thumbs-up from Cecily, who went to supervise her husband and son, probably to make sure they didn’t find the same kind of mischief Olberic and Theo had found together. 

"He’s more interested in food and games. I'm sure he'll ask me more about you later. For now, unless you want me to buy you lunch here, you can go."

"I would prefer a lunch  _ of  _ you,” Erhardt said, a low, suggestive purr.  

“Unfortunately for you, such isn’t possible,” Olberic murmured in reply, but he did nuzzle Erhardt’s hair.

“Then maybe a late night snack, if you’re awake?” Erhardt offered.  “The second party I need to attend will likely end somewhere around midnight…”

“We’ll see.”

Erhardt smiled and leaned back a little in Olberic’s embrace.  Even though they were surrounded by other people, even though he  _ knew _ he should keep his more brazen flirting to a minimum, he didn’t care.  He was out in public with someone he  _ genuinely _ cared for, and found himself not worrying about any pictures that were being taken or speculation that would arise in the tabloids--none of it mattered, anyway.  He had learned a little bit more about Olberic’s past, too, and met some of the people who were most important to the man.  

_ I look forward to talking with them some more, _ Erhardt thought as he let out a long, slow sigh.  

“I think I’ll pass on the food,” Erhardt said aloud.  “I’m sure it’s all junk food, and I can’t keep my svelte figure eating such things.”

Olberic chuckled softly.  True.”

“But, before I leave…” Erhardt opened his purse, removed one of Olberic's hands from him and pressed a box into it. "I'm sure that I am going to regret this, but am also fairly certain that you'll find it  _ interesting _ ."

"Oh?"

"I  _ strongly _ suggest opening it in private but...oh, okay, nevermind," Erhardt said as Olberic carefully and expertly removed the wrapping paper.

"'To keep me from harassing you about having sex with me,'" Olberic read, purring the words in Erhardt's ear. He opened the plain black box and chuckled darkly, which made Erhardt's skin prickle. "A pretty cage for a pretty man, hm?"

"I figured that if I was going to hand over control of my arousal to you, it might as well be pretty, comfortable, and functional," Erhardt said, his voice light and nonchalant. "Of course, only during the time we are in our apartment complex at the same time, I have no clients later, and I agree."

"Of course," Olberic said solemnly and seriously. "Thank you, Erhardt. I feel like my gift is silly in comparison."

"I doubt it. And even if it is, it merely shows how differently we tend to approach relationships."

"I suppose.  I don’t have a way to carry this, though. Could you drop it off in my apartment?" 

"Sure," Erhardt replied, an odd thrill running through him knowing that he and Olberic were technically neighbors. "I have just enough time to make that stop."

"My gift to you is in  _ your  _ apartment, so do stop by there," Olberic said and released Erhardt. 

"Will do," Erhardt responded. He turned and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to Olberic's lips.  He had fully intended it to stop there, but Olberic dragged the contact out just long enough to leave Erhardt  _ aching _ .

“You’re such a pain,” Erhardt said and lightly patted Olberic’s cheek, which earned him a fairly boyish, mischievous grin.  

“I hope the rest of your day goes well,” Olberic said.

“I hope so, too,” Erhardt replied before meandering away and towards their shared building. 

_ I know what I'd like, but I'm not going to get it,  _ Erhardt thought as he caught a cab--he refused to walk in the heat without the distraction of Olberic. 

There was a little more traffic than usual due to various street fairs and celebrations, but Erhardt didn’t mind; it gave him a sense of how much extra time would be required to get to jobs. 

_ That went...surprisingly well, _ Erhardt thought once he arrived at his apartment. 

He ascended the flight of stairs to the front door of the building, and then the flight that lead to his and Olberic's apartments. He opened Olberic's door and took a quick look around the main living space. Unfortunately, most of it was covered in tarp held in place by a few paint cans, and tools were scattered across the room. The shade of blue Olberic was painting the walls was quite lovely, though. Erhardt placed his gift on a kitchen counter, then left, locking the door behind him. 

_ Let's see what his gift to me is, _ Erhardt though and opened his door. 

Erhardt blinked, astonished. All the pictures that Erhardt had promised himself he would frame and hang up One Day were on the walls. He kept his homes neat and clean enough, but  _ everything _ was clean: windows, floors, countertops; the blades on his fan, his light fixtures--anything that could and did collect dust were dusted.  He poked his head in his bathroom and found it spotless and  _ organized. _ He wandered into his kitchen and found that even his  _ refrigerator _ had been cleaned, and a case of water with a post-it note saying “DRINK MORE WATER” stuck to it was the only thing within.  

Erhardt laughed softly and checked the freezer to see that it, too, was clean.  His cabinets were sparsely populated with non-perishable foods that he could easily make when coming home from a long weekend.  

As he was walking to his bedroom to see if Olberic had cleaned up that room, too, he was brought up short by a picture half-hidden behind a decorative bowl that one of his clients had given him.  He pulled it out and burst out laughing.

_ Who the  _ hell _ did he get to help him with this picture? _ Erhardt wondered as he turned over the quasi-erotic picture of Olberic wearing only short-shorts.   _ And are there more? _ _ A scavenger hunt for when I’m not insanely busy, _ Erhardt though.   _ I’ll check my bedroom later, because if there’s anything else even low-key suggestive, I’m not going to make it to the party. _

Erhardt left his apartment and locked it behind him--and checked that he had locked Olberic’s--before heading out.  As he waited for a car to pick him up and take him to his loft, Erhardt texted Olberic:

-Thank you for  hanging up all my pictures.  I especially enjoyed an addition of yours that I found.  Are there any more, or was tht the only one?

Erhardt was riding the elevator to his loft when he received a reply from Olberic:

-There are eight.  Good luck finding them all.

-Who the hell did you have help you?

-That’s a secret

Erhardt laughed.

-Very well.  Enjoy the rest of your day with your family

-I will.  Hope your events go well tonight

-I do, too

Erhardt put his phone away and absently smirked at the prospect of finding the photos Olberic had hidden.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skipped last week because of vacation and Octopath Traveler Gift Exchange, but now back to Thursday updates.
> 
> As always, nothing Octopath Traveler belongs to me.

"So there are rumors that the great Sir Erhardt has found himself a lover of his own," Gustav semi-teased as Erhardt handed over an evaluation form he had filled out for a recent trainee he had worked with. 

"Lover implies that we're having sex," Erhardt said. "And we're not. Its  _ killing  _ me, Gustav."

"You have plenty of sex, I'm sure you'll survive somehow. But, there  _ is _ someone?" 

"There is someone," Erhardt confirmed. 

Gustav startled. "Wait, what? Really?"

"Yes, really," Erhardt said. 

"Do I know them?"

"I can't see why you wouldn't--you both go to the same gym."

"But... _ no _ . Don’t tell me that...you're getting back together with Olberic?"

"I am," Erhardt  said. "It’s not one of my best ideas."

"It’s not even a  _ good _ idea," Gustav said. 

"I know, I know," Erhardt sighed. "Nonetheless…"

Gustav shook his head, incredulous. "Well, who am I to judge? It's your life. Just...be careful, okay? I don’t know if either you or Olberic could survive if you hurt each other again."

Erhardt smiled tightly. "I know.  But, I think...I  _ believe _ that it will work this time."

Gustav gave him a long, considering look. "Maybe. Good luck."

"I appreciate your enthusiastic support," Erhardt drawled and  turned to look at the rest of the gym. It appeared that the Institute was running a self-defense course that day, as Z’aanta and H’aanit were busy teaching trainees--and a few laypeople--how to keep themselves safe in a dangerous world. H’aanit was teaching a group of women while Z’aanta attended to a male group. The gym was fairly large, and the sounds of Z’aanta and H’aanit’s firm teaching echoed slightly, and the floors where they were training were covered in blue mats to dispel the worst of any throw.  Otherwise, the floor was wax-polished hardwood, the walls bland beige wood paneling, and from a device and a light futter of movement, it seemed as if the gym could be sectioned off using movable partitions. The lights were high, attached to the ceiling, and almost industrial-looking. The ceiling was corrugated-foam tile. Utilitarian, cheaply made, but functional. The activities were more important than the appearance, anyway.

"H'aanit and Z'aanta are really good at what they do," Erhardt murmured.

"Rumor is that Z'aanta is some sort of war hero and that he trained H'aanit when she nagged him enough as a kid," Gustav said. 

“Why are there so many guys in Z’aanta’s group looking half-sheepish, half-traumatized?”

“Z’aanta does not need volunteers from the female group for practice--most of the time, if a man needs to defend himself, it will be against another man.  However, the same is also true for women--the person most likely to try to hurt them is a man. Thus, H’aanit has been asking for...volunteers. They wised up to what that meant very quickly.”

Erhardt snickered, paused, then said, "I’m going to help."

"What?" Gustav asked, but Erhardt was already walking towards H'aanit.

Erhardt gave the woman a cheerful smile and a wave, and she nodded, which drew the attention of the rest of the women in the class. 

He saw a few flashes on confusion--Erhardt had chosen a more feminine expression that day, which most people still found startling.  He had his hair pulled up in a messy bun with a ruby-encrusted hair-pin keeping it in place, and had his usual ruby-drop earrings on. His right wrist was encircled by a gold band set with rubies and diamonds, and he had a stack-set of gold rings on his left middle finger.  A female client had given him a white, light, loose, nearly see-through chiffon blouse as a gift, which he wore with a breezy, ombre-dyed skirt that transitioned from white at the waist to brilliant red at the hem. Comfortable gold sandals completed his look, and he had foregone make-up for fear it would melt in the heat.

"Sir Erhardt," H'aanit greeted him.

"It is a tad difficult to demonstrate certain holds and escapes without a partner, and I can see you have already traumatized some of the male trainees," Erhardt responded. "My body is yours, within reason, even if I will likely accidentally fight back. That is just even more educational opportunity, though, right?"

H'aanit gave him a look over, then nodded. "Thankee, Sir Erhardt."

"No problem."

Erhardt proved more troublesome than H'aanit had clearly anticipated. He knew how to twist his body or move to either dispel or negate many of the moves without utilizing his technically greater strength; he was sure that H'aanit was more than a match in that aspect, however. 

H’aanit’s frown slowly turned to a smirk. 

"Perhaps Sir Erhardt shoulde teachen," she said.

“Nonsense, I am an awful teacher but a very good survivor and test subject,” Erhardt responded.  “Afterall, sometimes I’ve had to play ‘helpless’ and not get hurt in order to continue a job. Not much anymore, since I charge extra for each bruise, but it  _ is  _ a skill I developed.”

“You can  _ do _ that?” one of the trainees said, incredulity thick in her voice.  

“Charge extra?  Of course. My body is my livelihood; if a client leaves marks, they need to compensate me for it, since that will just make other clients think they can do the same thing.  Exorbitant fees keep people from being assholes. But, business class later. Self-defense now.”

Erhardt knew that while he was channeling his inner _prima donna_ via clothing, his body was still  _ very _ male, which was why he had to coax a few trainees into touching him at all.  Those times reminded of the women he bought from pimps and the young women who he had worked with in every other city besides Noblecourt. 

“H’aanit, giveth the man a rest!”

Both H’aanit and Erhardt looked over to see Z’aanta approaching, a rather cheerful grin on his face.  

“I do not doubteth Sir Erhardt’s stamina, but even the best need to resten once in a while.”

H’aanit looked to Erhardt, who shrugged.  Being a test dummy wasn’t terribly hard, and only one of the participants disliked men enough to actively  _ try _ to hurt him.  

“Perhaps thou art jealous,” H’aanit drawled.  “I have yet to heareth Odette praisen thy prowess in bed.”

Z’aanta laughed off the jab.  “Then letten the students rest.  Learning is hard work!”

Both Erhardt and H’aanit looked to the participants, and one of their stomachs growling made H’aanit smile and Erhardt suppress a snicker.

“Perhaps it is time for a break,” H’aanit reluctantly admitted.

“Go get food,” Erhardt said.  “There is a deli three blocks down--the Red Olive Deli--which is quite good if you haven’t been there yet.  The owner’s husband is a friend of the Institute, so if you mention you are attending a class of ours you may get a discount.”

There was a ragged, hesitant chorus of ‘Thank you’s before the women walked away and more easily mingled with their male classmates.  

_ We have given them knowledge and power, _ Erhardt thought.   _ I am better than most at avoiding retaliation.  Those guys? Probably not. _

“Thou art hardier than thou appearest,” Z’aanta observed, a slightly more critical light in his eye.  

“I’m a show dog,” Erhardt said with a shrug.  “I’m pretty, but I still do have teeth.”

“Father, I woulde like to speaken with Sir Erhardt.   _ Alone. _ ”

“Oho, you seeke to utilize his services?”

“No,” H’aanit said, her tone flat and final.  

Z’aanta held up his hands in surrender and said, “I jesteth.  I shall go watcheth the trainees to ensuren they stayest out of trouble.”

Both Erhardt and H’aanit watched Z’aanta walk away, and H’aanit waited until Z’aanta was completely out of earshot before turning to Erhardt.

“Thou didst teachest Ophilia.”

_ Well, there’s something to be said about being blunt, _ Erhardt thought.  “Yes,” Erhardt said.  “After a fashion. I provided her with safety, security, and the experience of having a  _ body _ .  She did the lion’s share of the work, although I did supply her with the vocabulary of  _ want _ .  Our carnal interaction was only a small part of my night with her.”

H’aanit frowned slightly.

“Ophilia is a gentle woman,” Erhardt said.  “Who has internalized a lot of awful things and hidden them underneath her gentleness.  Getting her to say ‘I want’ was actually really difficult. Getting her to say, ‘You’re doing it wrong’ was even more so.  We practiced saying ‘No’ over and over. I helped her figure out the difference between a ‘Yes’ and an  _ enthusiastic _ ‘Yes.’  Sex education covers these things, of course, but it’s one thing to learn about them, and another to put them into practice.”

“And thou didst...touchest her?”

“Well, yes, I  _ did,  _ and  _ very _ intimately,” Erhardt said.  “And we kissed, too--she’s a natural, although I’m sure you’ve come to know that.”

The faintest of blushes tinged H’aanit’s cheeks.

“I never penetrated her, though,” Erhardt continued.  “We did, for the sake of comprehensiveness and to satisfy her curiosity, have her practice putting a condom on me.  I don’t think I saw someone’s face quite so red before. However, that was the extent to which  _ she  _ ever touched  _ me _ .”

H’aanit was clearly fighting a myriad of emotions before she sighed heavily.  “I shoulde thankee.”

“But you wanted to be the first,” Erhardt said.  “That’s understandable. But, she wanted at least  _ some _ knowledge going in to, as she put it, ‘seduce’ you.  I think she wanted to impress you.”

“She did not have to tryen hard, as I hast yearnede for her since I first saweth her.”

The silence that briefly fell was strangely comfortable.

“How is she doing, by the way?  I would visit the cafe more often, but I feel it’s poor form to distract the management.”

“Ophilia is doing well,” H’aanit said, warmth in her voice.  “I supposen that I may speaketh freely with thee, Sir Erhardt?”

“About the young woman?”

“About mine love, yes.”

The silence that followed after that was momentarily awkward before H’aanit said, “She is more enthusiastic than I thoughten she would be.”

Erhardt’s eyebrows rose slowly.  “Ophilia has a high sex drive?”

H’aanit’s cheeks colored slightly.  “Yes.”

“That isn’t a bad predicament to have.”

“Agreede, but…”

“Running out of ideas?”

“Gods, no,” H’aanit laughed softly.  “Mine love is...creative.”

“Then how can I help you?”

“I have no skill in flirting,” H’aanit admitted.  “She tortureth me, and I knoweth not what to do in returne.”

Erhardt smiled and lightly clapped H’aanit on the shoulder.  “It really is the worst, having a lover who does awful things to you, but you’re always a second too late to be an asshole in return.”

“Thou hast suffered such a thing as well?” H’aanit asked, clearly curious.

“I have,” Erhardt said.  “As to how you can get back at Ophilia…”  Erhardt paused. “Use her drive against her.”

“Oh?”

“The Coffee Monster and the attached bookstore  _ have _ to have some sort-of-private places.  I’m sure there are things you want to  _ do _ to her, but they all get thrown out the window as soon as she has her hands on you, right?”

H’aanit actually looked a little sheepish.  “Perhaps.”

“Tell her what you want to do to her...in the employee bathroom or behind the farthest bookshelf.  Maybe come up behind her when she’s cleaning something or making a drink and press against her. You are well-endowed, I’m sure she’d appreciate it.  Maybe play with her waistband beneath the apron.”

H’aanit’s gaze was distant and her blush deepened a little.

“Also--bluetooth compatible, wireless vibrators.  Stick it in her panties, torture her at your leisure.”

H’aanit stared at him in a mixture of awe and bewilderment before she nodded, the motion resolved.  “Thankee, Sir Erhardt.”

“Trust me, it’s my pleasure to help get back at cruel lovers.  I can give you the names of the best toy stores in town, too, if you get my drift.”

H’aanit’s smile made Erhardt  _ almost  _ pity Ophilia.

After a short silence, Erhardt spoke again: “How did you and Z’aanta come to teach for the Institute?” 

“Father witnessede many a thing when he was a soldier.  Upon being discharged, he vowed to helpen women and men so that they coulde protecteth themselves without being a warrior.  He hearde of Noblecourt and we cameth here together when I was fifteen. We have been a friend to the Institute since.”

Erhardt nodded.  “That’s very kind of both of you.  It’s important to know how to defend yourself, particularly if you’re an escort and, therefore, much more likely to run into physical violence.”

“Father and I also teacheth the dancers.”

“Oh?”

“We teacheth them to hunt.”

Erhardt and H’aanit held each other’s eyes for a long moment before Erhardt smiled.

“Knowing how to track and trap your quarry is just as important as the kill itself.  I’m glad they have someone teaching them that skill set as well.”

H’aanit returned Erhardt’s smile with a smaller one.

“Anything I can do to assisteth, I shall,” H’aanit murmured.  “The better they knoweth to hunt, the more likely they are to returneth.”

Erhardt nodded slowly.  “I also saw you guarding one of our new escorts a while back.”

H’aanit startled a little, but gave Erhardt a smile.  “If you noticede, then my own performance was lacking.”

“I have had years to learn how to be situationaly aware to an almost painful extent,” Erhardt said.  “Don’t blame yourself. You looked quite good in that usher’s outfit.”

H’aanit smiled faintly.  “I wish to keepest them as safe as I can.  The world is dangerous, and men even moreso.”

“Present company included, I’d imagine?”

"Thou art a man, yes?" H'aanit responded. There was a small smile in her eyes, even if her mein was serious.

“Sometimes I also helpeth the Professor,” H’aanit continued.  “It was...odd...to discoverth that he controlleth much of the elementary curriculum at the Institute.”

_ “ _ Rumor has it that he was, apparently, an actual Professor before he got kicked out of the University where he was teaching.  It makes sense that he would want to continue to teach  _ and _ that he would be a deft hand at curriculum development.”

“Twas still odd to knowest him as the owner of a cafe and then to see him teachen at the Institute.”

“I bet.  I’m sure the students love him, though.”

“It is easy to becomen endeared to him,” H’aanit replied.   “I cannot imagine why he would be dismissede. He careth much for his students.”

“He’d probably answer if we asked.”

“Agreede, but…”

“It would probably only turn up bad memories if we  _ did _ ask.”

After a short silence, H’aanit said, “Then I am gladdened that the Professor teacheth again, even if it be not university students.  Many are in neede of his instruction, for we taketh those without education and providen it to them.”

“The Institute has come quite a way since I was studying,” Erhardt agreed.  “Cyrus also seems to be the kind of person to insist that knowledge should be shared with everyone,” Erhardt said. 

H’aanit nodded.  “He shareth his time and knowledge freely.  More shoulde be like him.”

“I wonder…”

“Yes?”

“How do you think he decides the curriculum?  Can you imagine him going through, like, anatomy textbooks as well as reading erotic texts?”

H’aanit didn’t laugh, but her eyes and smile did for her.  “I am sure  _ that _ he would be willing to explainest.”

“At length and in great detail.”

“Most surely.”

"Are you done training for the day after this class?"

H'aanit shook her head. "Second year dancer training is forthcoming."

Erhardt hummed.  “So, you mentioned something about Z’aanta and Odette being bedmates?” Erhardt asked.

H’aanit chuckled.  “Not quite. But, it is truly awful, how badly they flirteth with one another.”

“I believe that that is partly the point.  It’s meant to be fun and stupid. Odette has retired and, from a discussion that we had, isn’t looking for anything close to a serious relationship.  So if they’re sleeping with each other, great, but I hope your father doesn’t have his heart set on her.”

“I thinken he understandeth where her mind and heart are.  He hast been patient before. He canst be patient again,” H’aanit murmured.  

“You think he’s serious about her?”

“As serious as he ever is,” H’aanit drawled, which made Erhardt snicker.  "I woulde not mindest if he chosen to tameth himself for her. I groweth tired of his philandering."

"Well, maybe it will work, maybe it won't."

"She has stoppethed his gambling habit, for which I am grateful. I appreciate a positive influence on him."

"Impressive."

"Most. What brought thee here, anyway?"

"Not a fan of my company?"

“Just curious. Sir Erhardt is a busy man."

"Gustav organizes trainee assignments, and one was assigned to me a day or so ago. I had to turn in my evaluation."

"Thankee, then, for staying to assisteth."

"It was my pleasure," Erhardt said honestly. "I hope your efforts with Ophilia are productive."

"Mine hopes echo yours," H’aanit agreed.

"Maybe I'll see you around the cafe," Erhardt said and offered his hand.

H’aanit took it, but instead of shaking it, pressed her lips to his knuckles as her eyes shone with mischief.

"So chivalrous. It is no surprise Ophilia fell for you," Erhardt teased.

H’aanit let him go and Erhardt left, stepping back out into the heat and promptly grumbled about it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has taken *checks chapter count* **17** chapters, but Olberic and Erhardt finally fuck in this one. So, yes. There is sex in this chapter. Pretty mild and hand-wavy sex, but sex. I suppose this is both Spoiler Alert and Warning: Olberic and Erhardt have sex in this chapter.
> 
> _**FINALLY**_

Erhardt had made a habit of checking in on the Coffee Monster every few days in an effort to show Olberic that he was Serious about their relationship, flirt shamelessly with the man, and try to seduce him into finding out if they _were_ physically able to have sex in the cafe’s bathroom.  Erhardt was also learning the rhythms of the cafe: when it was busiest, when it was slowest, who worked when, who were the regulars.  It was interesting, the wide range of people the cafe drew, from fairly upscale clients that Erhardt knew intimately to middle school students.  

Erhardt  also discovered that they did indeed have a massively high turn-over in workers.  However, Erhardt saw the ones who were there-and-gone at different jobs more suited to their skills or overheard them telling Ophilia about their schoolwork when they dropped by to say hello.  He, too, began to assist, providing recommendations to the Institute so that the entrance fee was either reduced or waived entirely for those who were interested in pursuing one of those particular career paths.   Doing that earned him one free beverage a day from either Alfyn or Therion, depending on who was working.   

It was a slow day at the cafe and Erhardt was going over his work email on his phone when he was joined at ‘his’ table  by an extremely serious-looking Zeph.

“Who died?” Erhardt asked and put away his phone.

“Red-Eye is a much bigger threat than we thought,” Zeph said in a low, sad voice.  “The death toll has climbed past 100000 in Marsalim with more overdoses every day, and it’s probably an even higher number than actually reported.”  

Erhardt frowned.  “That’s...unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate is putting it lightly.  You have a way with words, Sir Erhardt.”

“My talent for understatement is well-developed.”

“Downplaying the severity of a situation is rarely beneficial.”

“Don’t want a client to panic ifs something goes wrong.”

“...I suppose that makes sense for you,” Zeph admitted.

Erhardt hummed in agreement before saying, “What can I do to help?”

“Listen and help me strategize,” Zeph sighed.  “Diplomats and actors see things similarly, albeit from different sides of the law.  Dancers keep their own council because they themselves skirt the fringes of legality, so being directly involved with any of us risks us becoming accomplices.  You’re already in on this slightly and are the best escort there is. I need your perspective.”

“I’m yours for the time being,” Erhardt said after taking a sip of the apparently-caffeinated beverage Therion had put together for him.

Zeph gave him a smile.  “I suppose you should know what Red-Eye _does_ first.”

“That’d be helpful.  Arianna mentioned it at our last tea, but only because it is tangentially related to the sex trafficking that is still happening out of Stillsnow.”

“Different jobs, different priorities,” Zeph said.  “According to reports--I have not tried it myself yet--it works similar to an opioid.  A sedative pain-relief drug, clear liquid, with a common side-effect being the sclera of the eyes becoming red after repeated uses.  Something in it...degrades the structural integrity of delicate capillaries, which causes them to burst and, therefore, create the ‘red eye’ appearance.  The effects of the drug include intense lethargy, the feeling of floating and detachment from the user’s body, and the absence of physical pain. It is highly addictive and the body quickly develops tolerance for it.  However, increasing the frequency or dosage also increases the frequency of less pleasant side-effects and the potential of overdose. Aside from the redness in the eye, there is also bruising and edema, loss of sensation in the extremities, progressive blindness, low blood pressure, fever, confusion, and vomiting.  It’s the overdose symptoms that are truly frightening, however. Rapid loss of consciousness that can lead to coma, tachycardia, paralysis, and death are all potential effects of overdose.”   

“And people enjoy that enough to risk _death_?” Erhardt asked, incredulous.  He had been offered drugs in his time as an escort, of course, but the prices he charged for that particular service were high enough that even those with the deepest wallets balked.  

“The floaty feeling and numbness apparently are helpful enough to ignore the risk of overdose.  Marsalim’s economy is struggling and opportunities are becoming ever more scarce. The people are reluctant to accept outside help, fearing that any help will instead overrun them and their culture and put them under the control of another.”

“It sounds _complicated_ to make,” Erhardt murmured.  “Nothing like that comes naturally.”

“It does seem like it requires skill, ingenuity, and a complete lack of empathy to create.  We’ve yet to figure out how it is made, but it is easily available and _cheap_.  It seems like every drug dealer in Marsalim has access to it.”

“It doesn’t saturate the market?”

“Not when there’s as high a demand as there is.”  

“And I _know_ who’s behind it,” came the snappy, angry comment as Alfyn came up behind Zeph.

“Alf,” Zeph sighed.

Erhardt gestured to the seat to his left.  “Sit. No need for you to loom over _Sir_ Zeph.”

Alfyn blinked, scowled, then sat down with a thunk perpendicular to Zeph and Erhardt.

“If _you_ know who’s behind it, _we_ know who’s behind it,” Erhardt said.

“Yeah, I know, but you don’t _know_ Miguel like I do.”

“Oh, really?” Erhardt asked, leaning his elbows on the rickety table and holding Alfyn’s eyes.  “Do tell.”

A long, awkward silence drew out between them, and a thousand different emotions flickered over Alfyn’s expressive face until it settled on guilt.  “Look, I was stupid, okay? In undergrad, to fund what loans didn’t cover, I helped run a medical marijuana dispensary with this guy named Ogen. I basically grew everything we sold--always been good with plants and herbs.  I learned how to breed non-THC containing plants and distill CBD oil as well. Kept quality control and stuff, y’know? But, well, legal will always be more expensive than illegal, right?”

Alfyn shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  “Most of the dealers, they were no problem, just a pain in the rear sometimes, ‘specially when they tried to poach.  Give ‘em a talking-to and it usually set ‘em straight. But, there was this one guy who I kept runnin’ into over and over.  Miguel was his name. I thought...I thought I could talk with him, y’know? Maybe show him how things _should_ be done and he’d change his business.  Showed him around my garden and explained how stuff was supposed to be done.  I wanted to have him help around the store, but Ogen nixed that one real quick.” 

Alfyn sighed.  “All I did was just showed ‘im how to get around the law.  The things he could say to make it seem legit. But, y’see...he spiked what he sold.  Made it super addictive by tinkerin’ with... _something_...or addin’ something else.”

Alfyn looked at his hands, which slowly curled into fists.  “Somethin’ he added, somethin’ he _did_ , got someone killed.  I tried talkin’ to him, but he was right nasty to me, and I got into an actual fight with him.  I won, but that just pissed him off. Tried to ruin Ogen’s business, but I was good enough at talkin’ and sleuthin’ that I managed to corner him.  The police took care a him after that, or should’ve. He talked good game during the trial, and was in jail only for a little. Disappeared once he got out.”

“And how do you know the Miguel in Marsalim is the same Miguel that you faced down?” Erhardt asked, intrigued.  He would never have pinned Alfyn as having any kind of dark spot in his past.

“Because he sent me a package from Marsalim with a sample of Red-Eye to _taunt_ me,” Alfyn almost snarled.  “Said that--said that I wouldn’t be able to stop him this time.  I had only given him time to think and develop what he sent me. I...ran a chemical analysis of Red-Eye and it’s nothin’ like anythin’ I’ve seen.  But, I can...I can stop it! I _know_ I can!”

“Which is why _you_ have to stay _here_ ,” Zeph said in a surprisingly irritated tone--it seemed this was an argument they had before.  “Working with a field kit is much harder. You have Dohter’s labs to work with if you stay in Noblecourt and I’m sure the Institute can fund _something_ if you can’t find any grants.”

“And if they can’t, I will,” Erhardt said with a shrug.  “The gods know I have enough money.”

“Wait, what?”  Alfyn said. “You would?”

“Yes.”

“So, you’re going to stay here now, _right_?” Zeph said.

“No!  Yes? I can’t...I can’t leave you alone.  I don’t want you to go down there alone. It’s dangerous, _he’s_ dangerous, he said…” Alfyn trailed off, clearly uncomfortable.

Both Zeph and Erhardt had training in patience.  Alfyn did not.

“He said he’d hurt you,” Alfyn eventually whispered.

“I risk getting hurt constantly,” Zeph pointed out, although the briefest hitch in his breathing told Erhardt that _that_ piece of information had surprised Zeph.  “Working here is a part-time job to make sure I don’t go insane from stress. It isn’t my _real_ profession, and you know that.”

“I know, I know,” Alfyn said and rubbed the back of his neck.  “I just...love you. And I know that if I’m with you, I know enough medicine to heal you.  I can...I can help the others, too. I know field medicine pretty well. Not as good as a soldier, but pretty good.”

“Alf,” Zeph sighed, his eyes and expression soft.

“Would you heal an enemy?” Erhardt asked.

Zeph gave Erhardt a curious look as Alfyn frowned.

“What?” Alfyn asked.

“Would you heal an enemy?” Erhardt repeated.  “You find a person on the side of the road. You recognize them as an accomplice of some sort to Miguel.  You find Red-Eye in their pockets along with carefully separated stacks of leaf, maybe even a note from Miguel himself.  You know this person is _bad_ , that their actions have harmed dozens of people and, if you heal them, they may go on to harm dozens more.  _Do you heal them_?”  

“People can change,” Alfyn responded.

“Like Miguel did?” Erhardt challenged.

The silence at their table was heavy.

“You’ve got your heart in the right place, Alf,” Zeph said and gently ran his fingers through Alfyn’s hair.  “But it’s too big right now.”

“But, what can I do?  I have to do _something!_   I can’t let you go into danger, I can’t let other people suffer because of Miguel, because I didn’t…”

“Because you didn’t kill him when you fought,” Erhardt finished in a low voice.

Alfyn froze.  

“Escorts get different training than actors or courtesans,” Erhardt said.  “But we’re all taught to read beneath what people say.”

Alfyn’s jaw clenched and he looked away.  “I should have. If I had, none of this would be happenin’.”

“Maybe,” Erhardt answered.  “Maybe not. There are always people looking to profit off of the suffering of others.”

“And putting _yourself_ in danger isn’t going to make you feel any less guilty,” Zeph said and covered one of Alfyn’s hands with his own.  “But you know what will? Finding out if there is a way to treat overdose. You’re a brilliant chemist, Alf. You blew away everyone in undergrad, got research opportunities as a rising sophomore, are in Dohter’s on a prestigious scholarship.  If there is _anyone_ who can figure out how to neutralize or reverse the effects of overdose, it’s you.”

“But…”

“You are also...not exactly _subtle_ ,” Erhardt said, barely keeping a dry note out of his voice.  “You going down may help people, or it could blow Sir Zeph’s cover and get him hurt.”

“I’d never--”

“Would you, Alf?” Zeph asked.  “If you saw me pretending to be an addict, pretending to be a runner or a dealer, what would you do?”

Alfyn struggled in silence again, so Erhardt sat back and took a sip of whatever beverage Therion had given him--every time Erhardt said ‘Surprise me’ he got something different and had yet to regret it.

“I’d say something,” Alfyn eventually admitted.  “I’d try to help you and probably just get you hurt.”

“Exactly,” Zeph said.  “I’m sorry.”

“However,” Erhardt said, breaking in on the morose silence.  “There _is_ a way that you can help us now.”

Alfyn perked up, although the enthusiasm was cautious.  “How?”

Erhardt leaned in a little.  “Tell us _everything_ .  Every detail of Miguel, his speech patterns, what he looks like.  If he had any friends, who they were. He clearly has a bit of flair for the dramatic, so he probably won’t be _entirely_ subtle.  Even if it makes you embarrassed, even if it makes you feel guilty or awkward, _tell us_ what you know.  You’re the closest source, if you don’t mind me calling you that, to Miguel that we’ve gotten.  Anything and everything will help.”

“Do you need me to write it down?” Alfyn asked.

“I’ll take notes,” Erhardt said and rummaged through his bag.  “And Sir Zeph has an impeccable memory, one that I am grateful I do not possess.”

“You have a good memory, just for different details,” Zeph responded.

Erhardt hummed and gave Alfyn a wink.  “You should see my file cabinets of NDFs.”

Zeph laughed, and Alfyn looked puzzled for a moment before a blush colored his cheeks.  “You have people sign them, or the other way around?”

“ _I_ sign them,” Erhardt said once he had found a pen and a small notepad.  “The secrets that are spilled during pillow talk are ruinous.”

Alfyn’s laugh was actually a little nervous.

“I know you just told us a lot, and I’ll remember almost all of it,” Zeph said, “but is there anything else you think you left out?”

Erhardt had not expect to be part of a low-key interrogation when he stopped by the Coffee Monster, but it was interesting seeing Zeph work.  All the specializations had their own manner of making people talk, but actors and courtesans were the ones who had the most extensive training.  He could see how Zeph in particular made an excellent actor. It was nearly impossible to tell which questions were leading and meant to draw out information and which were just illusory small-talk.  Alfyn, too, had the uncanny ability to manipulate small-talk into information gathering from what Erhardt had seen happen at the cafe, and he wasn’t even trained. It could be a sort of osmosis-effect, but Erhardt was very firmly happy knowing that someone so adept at casual manipulation had a large enough heart to overrule the realization of how he could weaponize his natural charisma.  

As Erhardt took notes, a slow shiver ran down his back--he was being watched, but that wasn’t _always_ a bad thing.  There was the ‘stalker’ manner of watching, but he had learned that one had a particular instinctual feeling attached to it.  This wasn’t that one, although it did feel mildly invasive.

Erhardt looked around as covertly as possible when Zeph had temporarily switched his tactics to flirting with Alfyn with the skill of one only _barely_ trained in that particular form of emotional manipulation.  It didn’t take long to find the source, though, and Erhardt struggled to keep his expression neutral.

There were times that Olberic seemed to take delight in being as obvious as possible, at least to Erhardt.  Erhardt had been absolutely baffled to hear that other people _didn’t notice_ when Olberic was clearly undressing Erhardt with his eyes, as he was doing then.  It was a slow, violating caress, Olberic’s eyes dark and burning, the tiniest of smiles playing across his lips.  He was leaning against the wall that was across from the sinks where the dishes were washed, arms crossed over his broad chest, which only highlighted the musculature of his arms, although the skin-tight shirt didn’t hurt any either.  A pair of sunglasses dangled from his fingers and he was wearing work-jeans, spattered with paint and with tattered cuffs, that were just a _tiny_ bit too tight when he was standing as he was and, thus, accentuated the bulge in his pants.

_Don’t stare, don’t stare,_ Erhardt told himself, but he made the bad decision of locking eyes with Olberic instead.

There were _promises_ in those eyes, of pleasure that left Erhardt breathless and a passion that he wanted to drown in.  Patrons, employees, and acquaintances all said that Olberic came off as stoic and a little cold due to a dogged professionalism and courtesy--Erhardt was flattered to know that he was the only one Olberic ever treated to his hotter emotions.

_Focus_ , Erhardt said and mentally shook himself once he heard Zeph’s tone switch slowly from coy to business again.

Erhardt was surprised at how _thorough_ Zeph was without seeming invasive.

Erhardt ripped out his notebook pages and slid them across the table to Zeph when it became apparent that Zeph intended his flirting to end in adult activities, and left the table to Zeph and Alfyn.  To Erhardt’s disappointment, Olberic had disappeared. Erhardt had hoped to remind the man again that he had insinuated that he would be _just fine_ having sex in the Monster’s tiny bathroom and promised to be quiet, but it appeared that pseudo-plan was undone.  

He grumbled in wordless discontent under his breath before heading towards said tiny bathroom, since he _did_ actually have to use it.  He picked up the key from Ophilia, whose look of utter innocence left Erhardt suspicious.

_I don’t think I’ll mind if she is in league with Olberic,_ Erhardt thought, and was markedly disappointed when the bathroom belonged to him alone.  _Well, maybe next time._

He did his business, washed his hands, and opened the door, only to be pushed back in and against the wall, his back hitting it with a thud as the door closed firmly behind Olberic.  

_Fuck yes,_ Erhardt thought as Olberic kissed him _hard._

Erhardt groaned into the kiss and squirmed until he could wrap his arms around Olberic’s neck and press his body fully against Olberic.  

Erhardt loved being reminded of how good of a kisser Olberic was, and the fact that he had picked up a few new tricks during the years left Erhardt wildly jealous and _very_ appreciative at the same time.  He tangled his fingers in Olberic’s hair and responded with _enthusiasm_ , drawing a soft hum of desire out of Olberic.  Erhardt was distantly trying to figure out the best angle that would give him easy and comfortable access to Olberic's crotch, because _damn_ did he want his mouth down there, but that was entirely dependent on Olberic. 

Erhardt made a soft sound of protest when the kiss broke, and Olberic chuckled quietly. 

"Thank you for stopping by,” Olberic purred in Erhardt's ear after leaning into his (Erhardt's) body.

“Talking means less time for me to be on my knees,” Erhardt responded, trying to keep his voice smooth and not as breathless as he felt.

He had expected Olberic to just laugh his statement off or make some quip that would leave Erhardt pleasantly frustrated, so the low groan and full-body shiver from Olberic caught him by surprise.

_Holy shit, he wasn't joking about having sex here,_ Erhardt thought. _PLEASE. PLEASE ASK. I will make it quick, I promise, and can demonstrate more of my repertoire later, once you’ve had a metaphorical taste of what I can_ do _._

"Meet me in the office," Olberic whispered in Erhardt's ear then treated Erhardt to another, searing kiss which had Erhardt relying heavily on the wall and running through all his tricks to get his boner to _go away_ long enough for him to make his way to said office.  

Erhardt straightened his clothing once he was successful, fluffed his hair, gave the mirror a smirk, and left the bathroom, picking the key off the floor as he did so.

Ophilia looked as innocent as when he had gotten it from her, even if the tiny smile on her lips betrayed her part.

_Great.  The woman with the high sex drive is helping the man I want make my life wonderfully miserable.  My visits are sure to be...interesting from now on._

Odette snickered as he ascended the stairs to the second floor, and Erhardt giving her a suggestive smirk made her _laugh_.

_Please let this be actual sex.  Please. I’m dying,_ Erhardt thought as he found his way to the secret office.

He remembered where the switch was and pressed it, half hoping to see Olberic already naked, aroused, and waiting, even though he knew life wouldn’t be that kind to him.

It wasn’t, but he did like the look in Olberic’s eyes.  The man was leaning against the desk, which had been pointedly cleared.  

“If you press the forehead on the dragon sconce there, it’ll lock the door,” Olberic said, his voice low and heated.  “Just for safety’s sake.”

Erhardt promptly did just that.

“Come here.”

Erhardt happily complied and stopped just a few steps away.  “I finally found all eight pictures. You hid them in some _ingenious_ places,” Erhardt said, keeping his voice light and nonchalant.

“I hope you enjoyed the pictures themselves as well.”

“And I would like _you_ to know that, as of yesterday, I hid eight photos of my own in your apartment,” Erhardt said.  “Mine are just as varied, and each come with a...coupon of sorts. For each one you find, I do with or to you what I describe on the back.”

Olberic’s breath hitched slightly as Erhardt moved in so that his arms were caging Olberic.  

“Then they will not be terribly difficult to find,” Olberic drawled as he caught and held Erhardt’s eyes.

“You’ll be surprised,” Erhardt said.  “I like to think that I was quite subtle with _some_ of my hiding spots.”  

“The only time you’re not subtle is when it comes to me.”

“True,” Erhardt said.  “But I’d rather draw out the experience, if you catch my drift.”

Exquisite tension drew out between them and Erhardt was about to back away when Olberic pulled him up and into a _hungry_ kiss.

_Oh holy fucking hell,_ Erhardt thought for a split-second before returning the kiss.

Olberic pulled Erhardt’s body flush to his own, and Erhardt slipped his hands around Olberic’s waist and into Olberic’s jean’s back pockets and ground their hips together.  Olberic voiced a low, soft groan that broke their kiss and sent a thrill through Erhardt.  

_Please let us have sex._ PLEASE _let us have sex now,_ Erhardt thought desperately.

However, and to Erhardt's _extreme_ displeasure, Olberic kept his hands on Erhardt's lower back, although Olberic's breathing was ragged. 

"I _want_ you, Erhardt," Olberic whispered, his voice rough and conflicted. "But, if I…if I give in to this _need_ , what will happen? Will you only want me for my body, or will you, do you...? Or...will it all end? Will all these... _things_...I'm feeling just leave me aching again when you inevitably toss me aside for something or someone better?" 

Erhardt hated _talking_ when he really just wanted his hands on Olberic’s body, but he would grudgingly admit that the man had a point, given what Erhardt had done to him in the past.  Erhardt also wanted Olberic to know that he (Erhardt) wanted more out of him than just sex, although that would hopefully be a nice perk in their relationship, whatever it ended up being.  

Erhardt removed his hands from Olberic's pockets and wove his fingers through Olberic's hair. "I want you, too, Olberic. I want to give you...give you what little I can. I'm messy and most of my understanding of people and relationships is skewed due to my past. But, I don’t want this to end. You're not just a body, you're _Olberic._ I don’t know if that makes sense, but…I still do want to, to, to do _awful_ things to your body that make you scream my name, but I also want to, I don’t know, get ice cream and just talk about our individual emotional trauma because...it’s worth getting to learn _everything_ about you."

"No one...no one _looks_ at me like you do," Olberic whispered, his eyes half-closed as his hands relaxed on Erhardt’s lower back. "Like I'm the only thing that exists. Even when you flirt with someone else, you're always looking at me. It’s almost as if...'I can have anyone I want, but I choose _you_.'"

“Because I do,” Erhardt murmured.  “Choose _you_ , I mean.”  

Erhardt took a chance and lightly, carefully pressed his lips to Olberic’s, who relaxed under the extended, gentle contact.  

“It’s not supposed to happen this fast, is it?” Olberic murmured once the kiss broke.  “Not after…”

“No, I don’t think it is,” Erhardt agreed.  

A surprisingly comfortable silence fell between them, and Erhardt drew Olberic back into another soft kiss, and tried to somehow communicate that yes, he desperately _wanted_ Olberic, he also wanted _Olberic_.

“You won’t leave me?  If we…?” Olberic asked quietly after they parted.

“I won’t leave you,” Erhardt said fiercely.  “I promise.”

Olberic took in a deep breath and Erhardt found himself mimicking it, and they exhaled slowly in unison.  

“We’ve only really shared good memories with each other,” Olberic said.  “Which provide insight, but…”

“We have time,” Erhardt said and gently ran his fingers down Olberic’s face.  “We can talk about the bad memories when we’re ready. I’m not going to go anywhere.  Until then--”

Erhardt promptly forgot how he was going to finish the sentence, since Olberic pulled Erhardt into a kiss before slipping his hands under the waistband of Erhardt’s skirt and cupping his ass.

_Sex?  Let this be sex,_ Erhardt thought as he slid his own hands beneath Olberic’s t-shirt, his fingers tracing hard muscles and scars that he wanted to _explore_. 

Olberic broke the kiss, but only long enough to help Erhardt remove his (Oberic’s) shirt.  

“You were saying something earlier about being on your knees?” Olberic said in a dark almost _growl_ that made Erhardt shudder.

“So I did,” Erhardt replied as he held Olberic’s eyes, somehow managing to keep his voice smooth as he deftly unbuttoned and unzipped Olberic’s jeans.  “How would you like it? With me facing _you_...or facing the door?”

That caused Olberic’s breath to hitch, and Erhardt was delighted at how the rough kiss he was dragged into morphed into nearly tearing all of his (Erhardt’s) clothes off. Erhardt had to continually stifle happy sounds as Olberic’s hands explored his body and Erhardt was _finally_ allowed to trace the lines of scars and musculature, cataloging every place, every touch, that made Olberic react.  

Erhardt couldn’t quiet a low, pleased groan at how firm pressure on Erhardt’s shoulders made him kneel so his face was at crotch-height where Olberic’s erection was straining to escape his underwear.

_Finally.  Fucking_ finally, Erhardt thought as he pulled both Olberic’s boxer-briefs and jeans down to the floor.  

_Condoms, condoms, where’s my purse..._ Erhard thought and barely could reach far enough to pull it over to him.  He found one and shivered as he put it on Olberic’s prominent erection.  

_Gods, I forgot how delightfully girthy he is,_ Erhardt thought, feeling slightly giddy.  _He is why I’m the size queen I am.  Slow for quiet and to make him angry._

There was a very good reason that Erhardt was the one who was tapped for the oral sex classes at the Institute when they could pin him down and guilt him enough into helping.

Olberic tried his best to keep his vocalizations quiet, but didn’t always succeed.  Erhardt loved every sound he pulled from Olberic, how Olberic’s breathing changed in response to what he did or didn’t like, and how, even when caught in his own pleasure, he still whispered words of praise.  Erhardt pulled him to the edge of orgasm then pushed him away from completion, which made Olberic tremble and tug harder and more insistently on what of Erhardt’s hair he held in his grasp.  

Still, some part of him seemed to realize exactly what Erhardt was doing and why, and surrendered to the familiar tease and denial, the back and forth of pleasure and something close to _pain_ .  However, when Erhardt finally shoved Olberic over the edge, it seemed to almost _surprise_ Olberic, who shuddered and choked on a moan as he came _hard_.  Erhardt distantly wished he had the same kind of physical control as Olberic, since he knew even his body would have bucked against what seemed like the intensity that Olberic experienced. 

Erhardt withdrew first himself, then pulled off and tied the condom.  The trash can had enough garbage in it that Erhardt figured it would have to be taken out, so tossed it before standing and stretching, his legs a little sore from how poorly he had positioned himself.  

Erhardt stepped into Olberic’s body and ran his hands slowly through Olberic’s hair, delighting in how he could see that Olberic’s pulse was still racing, his breathing a little ragged, his face flushed, skin radiating a soft warmth.  Erhardt gave himself a mental pat on the back and pressed a gentle kiss to Olberic’s lips.

He smiled when Olberic wrapped his arms around Erhardt and into a hug, and let out a slow, content sigh.

_Well, did not expect the bookshop to be the first place we had sex, but I have had sex is far more unconventional places,_ Erhardt thought and returned the embrace, delighting at the full-body, skin-on-skin contact.

“What can _I_ do for _you_ ?” Olberic asked once he recovered his breath.  Erhardt pulled back to see that, while there was still the familiar darkness of _want_ alongside satiation, there was something...else, too.  A bit of fear. A soft yearning. And the smallest bit of _hope_.

“Find the photos,” Erhardt purred and framed Olberic’s face with his hands.  “I can force myself to be a quiet lover, but the kind of sex I want to have with you will be too loud and vigorous to be discrete.  Considering it motivation to find the pictures.”

Olberic’s smile was just a tiny bit evil as he murmured, “I’m sure I can find _something_ here that can be used as a gag.”

Erhardt had been very good about forcing down his arousal because he wanted to be able to focus entirely on Olberic’s pleasure without worrying about his own body, but _that_ made his skin prickle.  “Do you _really_ want to have penetrative sex here in your office?”

“Yes.”

Erhardt’s brain went momentarily blank from shock and want, a thrill racing down his spine.  

“But while _I’m_ all for penetrating _you_ , I want you too badly to wait any longer,” Olberic murmured as he gave Erhardt a look that made arousal pool in Erhardt’s stomach.  “So why don’t you take me? I can bend over the desk if that would be easiest.”

Erhardt had to muffle a high-pitched whine using Olberic’s neck because _gods_ if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d heard from Olberic.  Sure, they had sort-of role-played it over text, but he hadn’t thought the man was _serious_.

“No, I want to see your face,” Erhardt whispered against Olberic’s skin.  “Is the desk at least comfortable _lengthwise_?”

“It is, and it’s sturdy enough to support my weight.”

“You’ve _tested_ it?”

“Perhaps.”

Erhardt had to muffle another moan using Olberic’s body.

_Holy hell.  We having sex, we are having penetrative sex in his office during the work day, and it’s a_ struggle _on a good day for me to be quiet_ , Erhardt thought as he retrieved two more condoms--no need to get cum on any of the furniture, so Olberic would be wearing one, too--and a brand new bottle of lube, whose residue would likely have to be cleaned off the desk, but Erhardt was sure there were tissues or paper towels _somewhere_.  Olberic sat on the desk before stretching and carefully lying down.

_Gods, he’s gorgeous,_ Erhardt thought and trailed butterfly kisses from the hollow of Olberic’s throat to his navel before pulling away and moving between Olberic’s legs.  He uncapped the bottle of lube, made sure his fingers were well-coated, and carefully, slowly began to penetrate and prepare Olberic.  

While a large part of Erhardt just wanted to _take_ him, it was also a sort of second first-time, and Erhardt was _distracted_ by  watching how Olberic responded to his touch.  Every body was different, and Erhardt was relishing the chance to learn Olberic’s, at least partly.  How the man tensed and squirmed, sought the sensation that Erhardt was providing, made it hard for Erhardt to breathe, let alone think.  However, _he_ wanted to be _inside_ Olberic, and that prospect made him ache in anticipation.  

Erhardt pulled his hand back to a soft sound of protest, but Olberic let out a soft sigh when Erhardt encased his (Olberic’s) dick in a condom before putting one on his own erection.

_I’m actually having_ sex _with_ Olberic, he thought with a slight tinge of wonder as he pulled Olberic a little off the desk before gradually penetrating him.

Olberic shivered as Erhardt stifled a moan.  

He had never actually taken Olberic before; when they were first together, Olberic had always firmly insisted on being the top, and Erhardt hadn’t cared enough to protest or ask why, since he thoroughly enjoyed the combined feelings of _protection_ and _fullness_ that Olberic provided.  That _he_ was now looking down at Olberic, the man spread out before him, was almost _surreal_ .  He was all hard lines and bright scars, with _just_ enough body hair, his face flushed, lips parted as he took in fast, shallow breaths, eyes closed as he seemed to focus on how it  _felt to have_ Erhardt moving inside him; Erhardt had never seen anything quite like him.

Erhardt shifted and adjusted both himself and Olberic until Olberic voiced a low, choked sound and his entire body shuddered and his hands gripped the edges of the desk.

_There we go,_ Erhardt thought and maintained the angle as best he could while freeing up his other hand to leisurely stroke Olberic’s erection, which had come fully back to life.

Erhardt honestly didn’t know if he was saying anything, and only distantly cared.  The sex felt great, definitely, but there was something...better?...about finding out all the right ways to touch Olberic, the speed and depth of penetration that he preferred, what it took to earn the tiny moans that would escape Olberic, what frustrated and what pleased.  It was different than what Erhardt did for clients, however--that was a detached observing. With Olberic...it was something _more_ than just observation.  

_It seems that he still refuses to come until his partner does,_ Erhardt thought, amused, as he could tell that Olberic was barely hanging on. Erhardt couldn’t quite simply _surrender_ to his pleasure, however--a part of him was always aware enough to keep track of if it sounded like someone was close to the door.  Erhardt simply didn’t know just how much of a line Olberic wanted to toe in terms of exhibitionism, so it was better to be safe than sorry. Thus, Erhardt was inordinately pleased when he actually made Olberic come first, although the sharp gasp and mingled look of surprise and _pleasure_ that passed across Olberic’s face, along with how his body bucked under the sensation pushed Erhardt over his own edge; it was a struggle, but Erhardt managed to merely _breathe_ Olberic’s name instead of crying out in _relief_ like he wanted to.  

Erhardt pulled out of Olberic once he caught his breath, satiated while also distantly hoping for _more_.  He was also quite smug over how absolutely _wrecked_ Olberic appeared.  

_And this is why it pays to date an escort,_ Erhard thought happily as he removed, tied off, and trashed their used condoms.  He leaned over Olberic, one hand resting on either side of his chest, and waited until Olberic caught his bearings and looked up at Erhardt, still a little bleary-eyed.

“Enjoy yourself?” Erhardt asked before he shifted so he could brush some sweat-slicked hair out of Olberic’s face.

Olberic nodded slowly and caught Erhardt’s hand in his own before carefully intertwining their fingers.

“Think you’ll ever be able to actually work in here again without remembering that the first time I ever took you was here?” Erhardt asked as he rested his other hand low on Olberic’s hip.

Olberic blinked, then laughed quietly.  “No, I don’t think I will.”

“How _awful_ , to be reminded of me at work.  Do you want to borrow some of my condom stock so that you can take care of yourself each time you get a spontaneous boner when the memory of _this_ creeps up on you?”

Olberic huffed in indignation, but his eyes were the kind of warm that made Erhardt’s insides squirm, so Erhardt simply smiled in return.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing Octopath Traveler belongs to me.

“You seem quite happy, Sir Erhardt,” Primrose observed and Erhardt flashed her a chipper smile.  He, Arianna, and Tressa were congregated for one of their occasional teas, and Erhardt wasn’t bothering to control the giddiness he felt whenever a memory from the previous day floated to the surface.  That Olberic had periodically texted him about his progress in searching for and finding the photos Erhardt had hidden only made things even better.

Erhardt was relieved that it was summer, because loose, flowing skirts didn’t show spontaneous erections as obviously as pants did.

“Olberic and I had sex in the bookstore’s office and it was _lovely_ ,” Erhardt replied before taking a delicate sip of the ceremonial grade macha Arianna had prepared for them all.  

Tressa half choked on her tea as Arianna merely shook her head in something between disapproval and amusement while Primrose looked distinctly unimpressed.

“Of course, we couldn’t do _everything_ I wanted to do nor how I wanted to do it, since the office is still close to browsing shelves and I’m not a quiet lover, but it was a start,” Erhardt continued.  “I have _plans_ , though, for our next date and some wonderfully awful things I can text him.  I should run them by you, Tressa, to make sure that they meet industry-standards.”

Tressa coughed a little bit more before croaking out, “I’m sure you do just fine on your own, really.”

Erhardt simply smiled before turning his attention to Arianna.  “How have things been for you? It has been quite some time since we had a tea last.”

“I have been busy,” Arianna said.  “How closely do you follow the news?”

“Quite closely,” Erhardt said.  “I need to know current events so I can speak knowledgeably to clients, and it sometimes helps me find new ones.  The stresses of life in the public eye can just be too much and too demanding. Everyone needs an outlet, one that I am happy to provide.”

“Wow, that’s a dick move,” Tressa said.  “Taking advantage of people like that.”

Erhardt raised his eyebrows slightly.  “Take advantage of them? I only make myself available, I do not force myself upon them.  You must think quite poorly of me indeed if you think I’d coerce someone into employing me.”

“I didn’t--it’s just...it _feels_ wrong,” Tressa murmured as she stared into the mug.  “Manipulative.”

An uncomfortable silence fell as he caught Primrose’s eyes across the table.

Dancers and Escorts were trained in the art of seduction.  Seduction, at its very core, was emotional manipulation, and both he and Primrose could teach courses on it, if they wanted to.  Yusufa, overall, was the better Dancer than Primrose, but no one could match Primrose in how beautiful she was in her kills and how no one ever expected the knife in the dark to come from her.

“Yes,” Erhardt said slowly.  “I am manipulative, and I’m _exceedingly_ good at it.”

Tressa startled slightly. “What?”

“In order to do my job at all, I have to know how to manipulate people’s emotions.  The best ways to get them to relax, the best ways to arouse them. Ways to pique their interest and get them over their reservations about employing someone like me, to reassure them that the only thing I will do is hold them, if that is what they want.  I know how to recognize when a person is hurting and eventually divine how to best help them purge the pain. That skill, like any other, can be weaponized, of course, but the only way I use it is as a way to give people pleasure.”

Tressa took in a deep breath, puffed out her cheeks for a second as she held it, then let it out in a heavy sigh.  “But...do you really deliberately go after emotionally vulnerable people?”

Erhardt shook his head.  “I offer myself primarily to heads of state and high-rollers, people who feel isolated due to wealth, prestige, social station, upbringing, or many other factors.  Most of the time, all they want is someone to treat them like a human being instead of bend to their every whim. You’d be surprised how often people pay me to be a stubborn asshole.” 

“That should come free,” Primrose drawled before taking another sip of tea.  

“I’m wounded, Lady Primrose,” Erhardt said.  “I like to think I’m quite charming. Only Leon and Olberic would be able to tell you just how much I can dig my heels in if I want to. Of course, there are also people who just want to have someone _listen_ , to hold them and let them cry.  To bear witness to some horrible stories and some pleasant, wistful reminiscing.  I have played the husband that a person wanted but could never have. I have been a boyfriend, lover, and sometimes...just a friend. There are, admittedly, times when a client turns out to be an asshole; I dump those and refuse to offer services again upon completion of our contract,”  Erhardt paused. “All of these situations require me to know how to manipulate people, but I do it with their consent. Am I making sense?”

Tressa frowned thoughtfully at her cup and said nothing for a long moment.

“I guess,” she eventually said.  “Intent matters in everything, right?”

“Exactly,” Erhard said with a nod.

“Everyone is a villain in someone else’s story,” Primrose murmured.

“And what have _you_ been up to lately, Tressa?” Erhardt asked, trying to steer the conversation onto more pleasant topics. 

“I’m...I’m helping out now,” Tressa said after a pause.  There was a determination in her voice and defiance in the set of her shoulders, but there was also a strange hesitancy in her gaze as she held Erhardt’s eyes.

She was looking to him for support--approval, even. 

“Oh?” Erhardt prompted after taking a sip of his tea.  “With what?”

“I...may have caught wind of some of the stuff that’s going down,” Tressa hedged.  

“Quite a bit is going down, most happily of all me on Olberic,” Erhardt quipped, which made Primrose scoff and Tressa hiccup a snicker.

“In all seriousness, though,” she continued.  “I...my family has multiple locations now, and we have to transport goods and stuff between cities.  When I overheard Leon talking about what was happening in Marsalim and Stillsnow with Mikk and Makk, I just _had_ to help out, y’know?”

Erhardt nodded, both impressed and concerned.  “So, you’re doing what he’s doing? Smuggling people out of danger?”

“Not quite,” Tressa said slowly.  “You see...I’m better at trade, commerce, and business, right?  Right. So, I figured that I might as well go after the source of the problem rather than the symptom.”

“Meaning?” Arianna asked, intrigued.

“Well, the, uh, Cianno family does more than just the s-slave trade, you know,” Tressa said.  “So I may be...um, making it harder for them to trade with anyone who has any kind of morals and sort of am helping the International police force--follow the money and things like that.  Sometimes, going through the legal channels is just as effective as being underhanded.”

_That is very much something Olberic would say,_ Erhardt mused.  “Good for you.”

Tressa blinked.  “What?”

“You’re doing something that the Institute can’t,” Arianna said, nodding approvingly.  “Although it is a bit dangerous, challenging them.”

Tressa shrugged.  “Leon goes out and literally risks his life to save people.  I...I’m not quite that strong, that’s not how I know how to do things best.  But! I will happily ruin someone financially and do it completely legally, too, since money makes the world go ‘round.”

“I’m so proud of you Tressa,” Primrose said with fake tears as she gently pinched Tressa’s cheek.  “Going out there and ruining empires through business acumen and sheer _brass_.  No one’ll think that you’re the one undercutting them at every corner.”

Tressa swatted Primrose’s hand away, but gave her a leering, slightly evil grin.  “Damn straight.”

Erhardt chuckled softly and took another sip of his tea.  “I’m impressed, Tressa, really. Both that you eavesdropped on Leon and that you are following through on your convictions.  I’m glad that the Institute can count you as a friend.”

“So, how many people’s lives have you ruined already?” Primrose asked, leaning back in her chair as she idly turned the tea cup in her hands.

Tressa gave her a cocked smirk and said, “Well, no one yet.  But don’t worry, I’m working on it.”

As Primrose, Tressa, and Arianna conspired and compared notes, Erhardt smiled ruefully and sipped his tea.  He knew the escorts were the smoke and mirrors of the Institute, but hearing the three women talk about what they were actively _doing_ to better the lives of other people left Erhardt feeling oddly bitter, and only years of ingrained training kept him from showing his emotions.

_I lived the life that these three are trying to save people from, and they’re helping others escape with compassion, persuasion, and leverage,_ Erhardt thought as he tapped his fingers against his cup as he pondered the dark green liquid.  _My attempt at helping most likely harms more people than it helps--if there is a demand, even a false one, people will find a way to provide a supply, either organically through despair, or via more violent means._

He took a sip of the tea, although the pleasure he had felt before was lost.  

“It’s good to know that we have such adept women as you helping to unravel various empires,” Erhardt said when silence fell.  “Tressa is destroying a mob-like trade dynasty. Arianna is helping to organize an international effort to root out major illegal trading rings.  Primrose’s life purpose is to bring down one of the most corrupt and sadistic men in all of history.”

“And you sit here in Noblecourt like a lump,” Primrose drawled.  

“And a very pretty one at that,” Erhardt said with a smile before taking another sip of tea.  “I keep the bed warm until the women come home after a hard day’s work and offer myself for their pleasure.  Someone has to take care of the home front...and the soldiers upon their return, so to speak.”

“You just don’t like getting your hands dirty,” Primrose said dryly.

“Manicures are expensive.”

Arianna sighed as Tressa snickered.  

“Aside from bringing down empires, what else have you been up to lately, Tressa?  I’ve seen you around the cafe, of course, and have caught you plying my brother with confections whenever he swings by for a delivery.  He foists some off on me, you know.”

“Does he now?” Tressa asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.  “How rude. I make them special for him now that I know what he likes best.  The least he could do is eat them.”

“Since he won’t eat you?” Erhardt said mildly before taking a sip of tea.

“Exactly!” Tressa replied.

“But, work is going well?”

“As well as it ever goes,” Tressa replied.  “Keeps the money coming in and the debt away, and that is what matters.”

“Any new, interesting stories?  Please tell me my brother has ‘accidentally’ called you again.”

“No, he hasn’t,” Tressa grumbled into her tea.  “Although I can tell you about the time I seduced a telemarketer.  That was fun.”

“Oh, please do.”

Erhardt leaned back in his chair as Tressa launched into her story.

Since he and Olberic had begun to exchange life experiences, Erhardt found that he paid more attention to the stories people told and how they related them to others--who they looked at and when, how they reacted to other people’s reactions, what goaded them on and what caused their story to slow. It was fascinating and, in a way, provided him with a tool to gain even more insight into a person.  He knew how to listen, of course, and how to read into people’s words, expressions, and tone. It was a different kind of insight, however, paying attention to _which_ stories were chosen and what details were emphasized, since that revealed what a person thought _important_.  

“How about you, Lady Primrose? It’s been a while since we last talked,” Erhardt commented once Tressa had concluded her tale.  “Any closer to clipping a right or left wing?”

“Not quite,” Primrose said, her voice grim and slightly annoyed.  “I found underlings, though. Hints and cold trails. I can _feel_ it, though.  I’m getting closer, and, soon enough, he will be _mine_.”

Erhardt’s skin prickled at her snarl.  “I’m sure,” he responded. “So, the rumors of one hiding here somewhere were bullshit?”

Primrose shook her head slowly.  “They were correct, but he flew before I could catch him.”

Erhardt frowned.  “How unfortunate. I’ll have to ask Gaston to pay closer attention to the people who come to him for help, if one of them truly was able to hide _here_.”

“They were trained by Simeon, and Simeon is one of the best dancers to ever graduate from the Institute,” Arianna said.  “Although I am surprised he _bothered_. He never seemed like one who would take the time to do that.”

“You think they might’ve been trained by someone else?” Tressa asked, frowning.

“Money makes people do things they never would normally,” Erhardt said.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if a dancer who wasn’t able to make it like he or she thought could be tempted into teaching Institute skills.”

Arianna hummed in agreement as Primrose shook her head in disgust.  

“I suppose it’s inevitable, though,” Primrose said.  “You don’t choose to be a dancer without ambition or drive, and I imagine that frustrated ambition could make a person to find other ways to make quick coin until they could establish a name for themselves.”

“They may even use such bribery as a way to _do_ that,” Arianna murmured.  “Dancers have patrons in a similar way to escorts--both specializations rely on others to provide them with fame and fortune.”

Primrose scoffed as Erhardt chuckled softly.  “I suppose you could put it that way,” Erhardt said.

Erhardt felt his phone buzzing in his pocket and slid it out to take a look at the caller.  Only years of training and discipline kept him from tensing or his breath from catching.

Mattias.

“I apologize, I have to take this call,” Erhardt said and slipped away from their table and out onto the nearby balcony, sitting on a bench between two decorative shrubs. His voice likely wouldn’t carry, particularly since they were near the top of a high-rise. 

Erhardt took a deep breath, straightened his posture, and answered the call.

“To what do I owe your call?” Erhardt asked, trying to keep his voice as smooth and nonplussed as possible.

“I honestly didn’t think you had it in you,” Mattias said.

“Perhaps you do not know me as well as you think you do,” Erhardt replied.  “I was curious as to who would use his name. It’s not something he’d...take kindly to.” 

“I was told that your conversation was quite brief.”

“No need to waste words on a pauper pretending to be a king,” Erhardt responded.  

“Oho, is that so…?”

“What opportunities did ‘Werner’ communicate to you?”

“Awfully impatient, aren’t we?  

“Opportunities must be seized before they pass.”

“That is true.  But, patience prevents rash mistakes.”

“If you say so,” Erhardt demurred.  

“You are always in attendance at the gala to be held in Flamesgrace next week, are you not?” Mattias inquired.

“I have been for the last eight years, and I shall be there this year, too.”

“Why don’t we meet prior to the celebration?  Some things are better discussed in person.”

“Very well.  Some transactions do need to be...physical.”

“I’d imagine that you would be best at those,” Mattias chuckled.

“You would not be wrong,” Erhardt answered.  

“You will meet me in the Cathedral at Flamesgrace at 2PM.”

“I will not disappoint you.”

“See that you don’t.”

Mattias hung up, which let Erhardt scowl at his phone.

_I still don’t know what I’m going to be walking into, but I doubt that it is anything good,_ Erhardt thought and leaned his head back against the stone of the building.  _If he knew Werner, then he knew that Werner’s business was in trading, sorting, and shipping humans.  He was the one who determined asking prices before placing them for sale. If he thinks I still work with or for Werner...or know_ anything _at all, then I assume that the opportunities that he will present to me will involve where Werner had dominated._

Erhardt rubbed his eyes and sighed.  _Who will he be expecting to meet?  We have spoken often enough at functions and I doubt that I managed to hide my dislike for him entirely.  Perhaps...perhaps I will merely need to play a part. If I called ‘Werner’ and spoke as I did...all I may need to do is remember that despair.  Remember what it was like to work for him to keep myself and Leon safe. I can’t imagine Mattias expecting Sir Erhardt to meet him, anyway._

“Erhardt--er, Sir Erhardt?  Are you okay?”

Erhardt looked up from his phone to see Tressa step out onto the balcony.  He gave her a pleasant smile and said, “Cordelia mentioned that your birthday is coming up.”

“It is!” Tressa confirmed.  “Can I sit next to you?”

Erhardt gestured to the bench and scooted over a little.  “Are you doing anything special besides trying to seduce my brother into some birthday sex?”

Tressa snorted.  “If only.” She sighed heavily, then looked to Erhardt.  “You and Mr. Eisenberg are together, right?”

“Well, I like to think we _finally_ are now that we have had sex,” Erhardt said.  “Although I think he’d disagree and say we’ve been dating for a while now.”  Erhardt paused and looked at Tressa.  “You’re normal.”

“Yes?  I like to think so,” Tressa responded.  

“I have a question for you, then.”

“Okay,” Tressa said slowly.

“Is there a difference between the desire for a person and the desire to have sex with that person?”

“P-pardon?”

“What’s the difference?  Olberic said that he wanted to make sure that he _loved_ me as much as he _wanted_ me before we had sex.  Those are the same thing, at least outside of family.  Aren’t they?”

“Well, no, not really.  You can want to hae sex with someone without loving them, just like you can love someone without wanting to have sex with them.”

“The former is the definition of my job,” Erhardt murmured.  “Then, what is love, if not the consuming desire to give someone sex so good that they can’t think straight because it makes _you_ feel good to see them wrecked?

“...is that really how you see it?”

“I’ve been a whore since I was 15 and my uncle, who I lived with from when I was 10 until around 14, had an endless succession of girlfriends once his wife died when I was 12.  As far as I _understand_ it, sex is love and love is sex.” 

“There are...there are different ways to be intimate with someone besides sex,” Tressa said.

“Intimacy,” Erhardt said slowly.  “I’ve heard that word tossed around quite a bit.”

“Well, I suppose...love is intimacy, it’s not just sex.  Sex can be a part of intimacy, but it’s not everything. Like…” Tressa sighed.  “I want to have sex with Leon, sure, but I love him, too. I want _intimacy_ from him.  I want...I want to just be able to talk with him.  To have the real, difficult conversations so I understand him better, understand who Leon _is_ and let him get to know the parts of me I don't reveal to just anyone.  I’d like to just be held by him sometimes, or share a cup of coffee with him without saying anything, just enjoying his company.  Hold hands and unpack all the trauma, support him and have him support me. It’s...it’s hard work, but it is worth it.”

“And _that_ is intimacy?”

“I guess.  You’d have to ask my parents.  They’ve been together for almost 25 years now.”

“Impressive.”

“I know, right?” Tressa said, flashing Erhardt a smile.  “They really do love each other.”

Her smile quickly fell however.  “I...understand a little bit of where you’re coming from, though.  I find myself wondering a whole lot…’Is love supposed to be like this?’”

“Like what?”

“This...ache?” she said and pressed her hand over her heart.  “When I see Leon, I want him to be happy, and I _get_ why he doesn’t want us to be together, but…it hurts, y’know?”

Erhardt nodded slowly.  “That’s why he’s doing this, putting you both through all this bullshit, you know.  Because he thinks that you’d be happier without him.”

“What?  _Why_?  What have I ever done to make him think that?” Tressa said as she scratched her head in frustration, dislodging one of her turtle bobbypins.

“I don’t think it really has anything to do with you,” Erhardt said as he pulled Tressa’s bangs back into place, securing them again with the bobbypin.  “Leon was really young when a lot of truly awful things happened in our lives, and while I tried to keep the worst of it from him, I know I didn’t entirely succeed.  Children are smarter and more observant than people give them credit for being. I just hope I was the brother he needed back then, because the gods know that I’ve been a shitty brother lately.”

“You both really care about each other, don’t you?” Tressa murmured.   

“He was all I had for a very long time,” Erhardt said softly.  “What else was there in my life when I was growing up? I lost my home, my family, twice.  I couldn’t lose him, too. And then I _almost did..._ ” 

“He told me a little about Baltazar,” Tressa said.  “And I see that he still keeps his engagement ring close to his heart on a necklace.  That’s why...am I competing with a ghost? How can I _possibly_ measure up to someone who Leon clearly loved with everything he was?  Is? Leon...he avoids me, since whenever we interact…”

“You can tell he’s just as attracted to you as you are to him, and it kills you each time because _why_?” Erhardt finished for her.

Tressa nodded glumly.  “It’s not like me to give up, but I’m feeling like doing just that.  There’ll be other Leons out there, I know it, but, at the same time, giving up will just probably let him justify that he is unlovable or some bullshit.”

Erhardt nodded slowly.  “It is hard to love someone who has suffered like he has, mostly because they have to really love themselves before they can find it in them to reach out to others and accept that maybe they _do_ deserve a chance at love.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Speaking from a whole lot of pillow talk and/or simply being a companion for a while.  So often, people just need someone to talk to; while I’m no therapist, I know the names of quite a few _very_ good ones that I direct people towards if they’ll take my advice.”  He paused. “Although maybe speaking from experience, too. ”

“So many people have such hard lives,” Tressa murmured.  

“But people like you make them a little easier,” Erhardt said and gently patted her cheek.  “Compassion is in short supply.”

“You flatter me.”

“You aren’t paying me, and flattery comes at an extremely high price point,” Erhardt quipped.

Tressa laughed at that before they lapsed into an easy silence.  

_Leon deserves happiness,_ Erhardt thought as he looked out the corner of his eye at Tressa.  _As does she.  But, I can play matchmaker all I want and be an absolute pain in the ass to Leon and still might not manage to break through his stubbornness.  Well, it has never been said that_ I’m _not stubborn, so I suppose it is time to see which of us can out-stubborn the other._

“Do you think Primrose and Arianna have eavesdropped on us?” Erhardt asked.

“No, they promised not to,” Tressa replied.  “But, we figured that a call important enough to pull you away from a tea was probably both Important and likely to be traumatic, so one of us had to come out to check on you.”

“And did _you_ eavesdrop on my conversation?” Erhardt asked.  

_Not like it would have made much sense,_ he thought.  _Still..._

Tressa shook her head.  “I’m nosy, but when you picked out a place that would naturally conceal your conversation, I respected your privacy and waited until I couldn’t hear the sound of your voice anymore.”

Erhardt wasn’t as good at telling whether or not a person was lying as an actor or courtesan, but intimate experience had taught him enough to be certain that Tressa wasn’t lying to him.

Erhardt sighed softly and readjusted his necklace so the clasp was behind his neck again.  “Well, I suppose we can both agree that love is complicated and frustrating.”

“Yup.”

“Do you have any plans for your birthday?”

Tressa accepted the change in topic with a nod.  “Yeah. It’s not gonna be anything big, just a barbecue in the park.  Mom and Dad and a couple of friends and relatives’ll be there. You and Leon are both invited, you know.”

Erhardt smirked.  “I’ll make sure Leon is there.  Knowing him, he’ll try to find some excuse or another to _not_ come.  In more than one manner, if you catch my drift.”

Tressa snickered, although the wistful look returned to her face.  “I’d take him just _being_ there.” 

Erhardt leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to Tressa’s head.  “Stay strong and have heart, Tressa. I’m very firmly on your side and will see what I can do to pry him out of his uncertainty and let him know that it’s okay to love you.  So, promise me you won’t give up just yet?”

“Got it!” Tressa said with an encouraging smile of her own.  “Now, c’mon, we’ve missed _your_ stories.  You always tell the best ones.”

“No, I always tell the ones with the best _climaxes_.”

Tressa laughed, stood, and offered Erhardt her hand.  “Which you’re getting to at least do now with Mr. Eisenberg, you lucky bastard.”

“I know some wonderful toy stores if your hand is getting tired,” Erhardt said as he took it and stood.

“Nah, I found one I _really_ like, but I’m sure I’ll enjoy the real thing even more when I finally get my hands on him.”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll need two.”

“I do have _some_ clues,” Tressa said with a grin.  

Erhardt smiled and gestured her inside.  “Ladies first, as it should be.”

Tressa snickered and entered the room again, Erhardt following a step behind.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are going to slow because my graduate program is starting.
> 
> There is sex in this chapter. Now that they finally got past the 'first time,' they are more than happy to go at each other. Again: Sex. It happens.
> 
> As always, nothing Octopath Traveler belongs to me.

Erhardt examined himself in his floor length mirror and sighed.

“I am not nervous,” Erhardt told himself for the third time in two minutes as he stared at the clothes he had dumped on the bed in his loft.  “It’s just a lunch date. Two hours max.”

Erhardt sighed heavily.  "And we've already gone on a date! And had sex!  C’mon, Erhardt, this isn’t that hard! You’ve gone on a thousand dates!  But...what if he _found_ all the pictures?  God, that’d be amazing...there are some things in there that I’m _dying_ to do with or to him.”  He took a deep, focusing breath, then turned his attention back to his bed.  “Okay. What to wear…”

Three outfits later, Erhardt had finally settled on something.

Lightweight black pants with an elastic waistband meant that it wouldn’t take effort to get out of it when necessary--there was a good chance of rain, and Erhardt _hated_ getting rainwater on his legs, so pants it had to be.  He added a patterned, red tank-top and a lightweight, short-sleeved, white button-down shirt over that.  As usual, he wore his ruby drop-earrings, although he added a black ribbon-choker that sported a square-cut ruby framed in gold.  He wore a gold ring with rubies flush to the metal, and nothing else. Everything was meant to make sure it wouldn’t _tangle_ anywhere uncomfortable and could be removed in a minute or less.

Erhardt quickly braided his hair, tying it off with a red ribbon hair-tie, and applied a dusting of gold eyeshadow.  It felt weird to go out without _any_ make-up on.  He grabbed a nicer casual bag, transferred over what was necessary--including a new bottle of lube and quite a few condoms--took a deep breath, and headed out the door.

The lunch place they had chosen was on the nicer side, primarily because Erhardt was a snob, but also because he wanted to impress Olberic and treat him to something _nice_ since he deserved _everything_ nice, in Erhardt’s opinion.  

_I just hope he has something he can wear to this restaurant,_ Erhardt thought.  _If he doesn’t, I’m taking him out shopping one day.  I should do that anyway._

The restaurant had actually come as a recommendation by way of Cyrus via Odette.  Apparently the owner of the establishment was a thesis advisee from his days at the Royal Academy who had a soft spot for Cyrus--Therese.  

Odette personally believed that the girl had been in love with Cyrus, but, upon Cyrus being denser than a black hole when it came to romantic advances towards _him_ , had given up; she had happened to ‘find her way to Noblecourt’ anyway.  Where Cyrus was living and working. A complete coincidence, of course.

Erhardt smirked faintly at the memory of the conversation as he walked.  He had taken a look at the menu and price range of the restaurant online, read a few reviews, and asked a few friends, who had all said that it was date-worthy--although they had all been curious as to why _he_ was going someplace so casual--so he was, at least, going in with that much confidence.

His confidence wavered into a sort of intense amusement as he saw Olberic waiting for him outside.  

The clothes were clearly new, and clearly a result of Cyrus.  While he was still wearing jeans, they were of a flattering cut and color, and slightly ‘dressier’ than Olberic’s normal wear.  The short-sleeve button-down was a solid turquoise, although Erhardt was delighted to see that there was what looked to be _patterning_ on the inside of the collar, cuffs, and the strip of cloth that held each button.  His shoes tread the line of casual and formal, and Cyrus had clearly fought--and lost--the battle with Olberic over his hair, as it was still in the style Olberic preferred, although there was much less product.  His only ornament was his usual large, silver watch. He looked extremely nervous, although only Erhardt’s familiarity with him told him such. 

_I suppose it is because this was a pre-arranged date, and not a spontaneous, “If you won’t let me have sex with you, let me take you out on a date” that we are both nervous._

“Olberic!” he called out, and the man startled a little before facing Erhardt.  His shoulders dropped slightly in relief and a smile slowly formed on his face.

_He was afraid I wasn’t going to show,_ Erhardt thought, mildly insulted.  _Well, that tells me how well some of his_ other _dates have gone._

Erhardt was pleased that Olberic greeted him with a gentle kiss on the lips, although it was a struggle to keep it chaste.  Olberic hadn’t been one for physical signs of affection before but, perhaps, it was because Erhardt had never thought to ask and Olberic had been too afraid to bring it up.

“You’re not late,” Olberic said, amused.

“For something this important?  Never.”

That caused the lightest of blushes to temporarily grace Olberic’s face before he gave Erhardt a genuine smile and held open the door.  “After you.”

The place was clearly independently run, although larger on the inside than Erhardt had been expecting. There were about two dozen tables scattered about, meant to accommodate two, four or six people, and could be easily pushed together and rearranged.  The carpet was a dark burgundy--perfect for hiding those pesky wine stains--and the walls were a light cream color. A few tasteful watercolors and stock photos were hanging on the walls, and the large windows in the front let in a flood of natural light.  Art-deco type lights hung from the surprisingly high ceiling that was occasionally crossed with an ‘exposed’ wood beam painted the same color as the carpet. There were already a few groups--mostly couples--sitting throughout the restaurant, talking quietly.  

“Two, please,” Olberic said to the hostess, and the barely-there giddiness in Olberic’s voice at saying those simple words was painfully adorable.

“Right this way,” the young lady said and brought them over to a table near one of the front windows.  “Is this okay?”

Olberic looked to Erhardt in a silent _‘Is it?’_  

Most escorts didn’t work during the day, and almost none of his clients would come to this residential district.  The likelihood of him running into someone he knew was low, and he actually found that he _didn’t care_ if he did. 

“This is fine,” Erhardt said, although he did take the seat that would put his back to the window. 

The hostess put the menus on the table in front of each of them as Erhardt slung his bag over the seat. 

“Your server should be with you shortly,” she said before walking away.

“Thank you,” both he and Olberic murmured as they settled.  

Erhardt met Olberic’s eyes across the table, and an odd, anticipatory quiet curled between them.

_How often did he and I go on dates before?_ Erhardt wondered.

“How did you find this place?” Olberic asked after looking away and opening the menu.

“Odette told me about it,” Erhardt replied as he did the same.  “Although the owner is apparently a former thesis advisee of Cyrus’.”

“Oh, really now?”

“Mmhm.”

A few minutes later their server appeared.  “Welcome to Mykonos Blue. My name is Kaia and i’ll be your server today.  Our specials are…”

Erhardt was impressed at how the young lady was able to rattle off the specials without once looking at the notepad that held their description.  She had clearly been practicing, and Erhardt appreciated it when people put in even that much more effort.

“I’ll give you a few minutes to think, but do you know what you want to drink?” she asked once she was done.

“Just water,” Olberic replied.  

“Water will be fine for me as well,” Erhardt told her--he wanted to be fully present for both the date and anything that came after, so water only it was.  He distantly hoped that the smile he gave her wasn't too reflexively flirtatious.

Her light blush told him he’d failed.  “Okay! I’ll be right back with your water.  Let me know if you have any questions, okay?”

“Really, Erhardt?” Olberic deadpanned.

“I can’t help it anymore!” Erhardt protested.  “I do it without thinking.”

Olberic heaved a heavy sigh. 

“I tried, though,” Erhardt grumbled and looked at the menu.  “It’s hard to not be suave, good looking, and charming.”

Olberic cracked a smile at that, which Erhardt had been hoping for.

“I’ve been looking forward to today,” Olberic said softly.  “I’m glad you...I’m glad you’re here.”

“Of course,” Erhardt replied.  “My morning and early afternoon are always and only yours.”  

He hesitated for the briefest of moments before reaching out and gently taking Olberic’s hands in his.  “I know this might be a bit hard to believe, but I _do_ want this to work.  I want...I want _us_ to work, to do things better this time around.”

Olberic nodded slowly and shifted so that their fingers were intertwined.  “I suppose, then, that I should dare to hope that it will, too.”

Erhardt smiled.  “That’s the spirit.”

Olberic’s smile was more wry, but he did squeeze Erhardt’s hands lightly before letting go.  “I have no idea what I want.”

“I know what _I_ want and hope to enjoy that later,” Erhardt said and gave Olberic a salacious smile.  “But when it comes to the food here? I’m not sure either.”

Erhardt’s truly terrible flirt surprised a laugh out of Olberic, but the resulting smile was easy and warm.  “Focus on the main course first, and I’ll see what I’m up for as dessert later.”

_Yes, please,_ Erhardt thought, his preferred kind of hunger curling through him.

After some back and forth, they both settled on different lunch specials, which Kaia took with a smile at Erhardt that he returned--and that earned him a gentle kick under the table.

“I’m sorry,” Erhardt grumbled.  

“Normally I don’t care--it’s actually a little funny--but try to save your flirting for me when we’re on a _date_.”

“I will do my best,” Erhardt responded as something close to _giddiness_ flowing through him at the fact that he and Olberic were on a _date_.  A legitimate, planned, honest-to-gods _date_.  “I do apologize if I fail frequently.”

Olberic sighed, but the sound was affectionate and not irritated.  “I’m not used to being this jealous. I know that you care for me, but...”

Erhardt chuckled slightly, reached over, and traced his fingers down the strong lines of Olberic’s face.  “It is my _job_ to flirt. However, know that my heart belongs to you, and no one else.”

It was sappy, but Erhardt meant it, and, from the brief flash of relief that crossed Olberic’s face, the man had needed to hear it.

“I’m sorry,” Olberic apologized.  “I had...forgotten...how flattering and infuriating being with you is.”

“Oh?” Erhardt prompted, curious.

“Flattering because you are so desired and desirable, and yet you have decided to choose _me_.  Infuriating _because_ you are so desired and desirable, which means you are wanted by so many people.  Perhaps it was insecurity, but I did feel that sometimes your job was the most important thing in your life, back when we first attempted a relationship, and that I was...an afterthought.”

“It hurts to say this, but I don’t think you’re wrong,” Erhardt said.  “Jobs were much easier and safer to hold on to than people.”

Olberic winced, but there was acceptance and understanding in his expression.  “And now?”

“And now I’m so desired that I can make my own hours, charge whatever I think I’m worth, and don’t have to worry about financial security.  My job is important, yes, but it’s not _the_ most important thing anymore.”

_You are._

The words went unspoken because Erhardt wasn’t _sure_ if that was entirely true--although he wanted to think it was.  Still, they hung in the air between them, and the softness on Olberic’s features made him wonder if those words _were_ worth saying.  However, that made him uncomfortable, so Erhardt looked around and didn’t bother to squash a smile as he quickly looked back to Olberic. 

“What mischief have you found now?” Olberic asked, both wary and intrigued.

“Let me tell you the story of why I know how to swing dance.  Don’t turn around, since that’ll be too obvious, but the man in the couple sitting across the restaurant from us, under the fake watercolor painting, was a client.  His now-wife, then-fiance, is a professional dancer, but he had no idea how to do it himself and felt guilty for it. However, he also knew that his fiance wouldn’t approve of him spending time with other women learning to dance, so I, with my rather feminine appearance yet very male body, was a happy compromise.  However, _I_ didn’t know how to swing dance, either.  So...”

Olberic was always an attentive audience, and even if he didn’t laugh out loud like most of his clients, the reactions Erhardt _did_ receive were gratifying.  The warmth in Olberic’s eyes the entire time, the small, affectionate smile that graced his lips, and the fact that he had one of his feet hooked around one of Erhardt’s ankles made Erhardt’s insides do funny, squirmy things.  Erhardt finished his story just as lunch arrived.

“Acting as a super does turn up some rather...interesting...problems from time to time.” Olberic said once they had taken a few bites of surprisingly good food. 

“I’d imagine.”

“Let me tell you about the time that I accidentally became part of a homicide investigation.”

 Olberic’s deep voice and even tone was almost hypnotic, although the times when his voice became dry, or impassioned, or annoyed, or sad, or any number of emotions that Erhardt was sure nearly no one else would pick up on made his tale captivating.  Erhardt found himself smiling, and was alarmed at how his lunch disappeared while he was listening to Olberic; from how full he was feeling, though, he was pretty sure he knew where it had disappeared to.  

“We need to do this more often,” Erhardt said when their dishes were taken away.  

“Go on dates?”

“Yes,” Erhardt said.  “It doesn’t have to be formal like this, either.  We can just...go for a walk in the park, or something small and impromptu like that.  I think...I would just enjoy spending time with you.”

Olberic smiled, and the easy warmth in the gesture made Erhardt’s body tingle.

“I think I’d like to go on more dates with you, too,” Olberic agreed as he reached across the table and tucked a stray strand of Erhardt’s hair on his ear before letting his fingers slide gently down the curve of Erhardt’s face and pulling back.  “Maybe I can convince you to go see a movie with me?”

“If you want to see a movie, just tell me which one, and I will organize seats at the premier.”

Olberic shook his head slowly and took Erhardt’s hands in his.  “I don’t want to be on a stage. I want it to be just you and me.”  A blush slowly formed on Olberic’s face and he murmured, “I would...I would like to do a lot of the stupid, silly couple things.  Share _one_ popcorn bag and _one_ soda.  Things like that.  It sounds so _juvenile,_ but…”

“But both of us missed out on those things,” Erhardt finished and clasped Olberic’s hands in his own before pulling them to him and carefully kissing his knuckles.  “We both missed out on being stupid, silly teenagers. Me because I was whoring myself out to keep a roof over mine and Leon’s head, you because...well, I’m sure you have your reasons, and I’m sure they have to do with the revolution and fall of the noble houses.”

Olberic hesitated, then nodded slowly.  “In truth, I...I watched them--my family--die,” he said in a whisper.  “It was hard to trust anyone enough to date them when there was the knowledge that anyone and anything could be gone in an instant.”

_Holy fucking hell,_ Erhardt thought, and his hands tightened on Olberic’s.  

“Then we really will have to focus on doing stupid teenage shit now,” Erhardt said firmly.  “Not like I _know_ what stupid teenage shit is.  I imagine it will be easy enough to figure out, though.”

Olberic’s expression turned sad.  “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Erhardt.”

“You were a child and lived through a literal revolution.  We both have more than enough sad memories to wallow in over drinks, which we will at some point in the future.  As for _now,_  I want to know if you’ve found all the pictures I left for you.”

“I’m only missing one,” Olberic said, gracefully taking the change in topic.  “I swear, I have looked _everywhere_. Unless you’re teasing me and only left seven instead of eight.”

Erhardt couldn’t help the smug smile that crossed his face.  “No, there are eight, and I think I know just the one that you’re missing.  Which is truly too bad, since I’m sure you’d enjoy the _activity_ that I detailed on that one.”

“Oh?” Olberic asked.  

“Mmhm,” Erhardt responded.

“I am uncertain,” Olberic responded.  “You were _inventive_ on quite a few.”

“No client has ever complained about me being boring,” Erhardt replied with a smirk.

There was something fearfully intimate about holding a person’s gaze for more than a few seconds, and Erhardt found that the ghosts of their pasts were slowly dispelled by the _heat_ that was beginning to slowly manifest in Olberic’s eyes.  An odd silence spooled out between them, and Erhardt broke it by asking, “I hope you know that _your_ pictures have provided fertile material for some of my most _interesting_ dreams lately.  I wonder...would you prefer I do what I’ve dreamt to you, or follow the instructions on _my_ pictures?”

Olberic gave Erhardt a languid  smile that did bad things to Erhardt’s body as he responded in a low, dark purr, “That depends.  I would like your help in finding that final picture, and then I’ll decide.”

_If he is consenting to inviting me into his apartment to fuck, I am all for it,_ Erhardt thought before returning Olberic’s smile with a leer of his own.  “You’ll have to earn my help.”

“I can be...convincing.”

_I’m sure_ , Erhardt thought as he pulled back, removing his hands from Olberic’s grasp.

“I took the subway here--how about you?” Olberic asked.

“I walked.  It’s not that far from my loft.”

“Do you mind if we take the subway back to _my_ home?”

_And have wild and uninhibited sex in_ your _bed?  Don’t mind if I do._  

“Not at all,” Erhardt responded, and pitched his voice to what he remembered making Olberic shiver.

He was gratified to see that it had the same effect even years later.

Olberic was stubborn and insisted they split the bill, so once that was paid, they left into the early summer day.  Erhardt offered his arm to Olberic, who blinked, laughed, then took it.  

“I like having a strong, strapping man such as yourself as _my_ arm candy,” Erhardt said and grinned at Olberic.

Olberic snorted, although there was a smile in his eyes.  “You can do better than me.”

“Absolutely not,” Erhardt responded.  “And anyone who says otherwise is merely jealous that I landed you first.”

Olberic laughed softly before stepping in a little closer and pressing a light kiss to Erhardt’s temple.  

The subway station wasn’t too far from the restaurant, and they descended into the cooler, slightly piss-smelling underground chamber.  A quick swipe later, they were past the turnstiles.  

“Near the rear of the train will get us out closer to home,” Olberic murmured.

“Already making innuendos, are we?” Erhardt teased.

Olberic blinked, then shook his head, a smile threatening.  

Once they reached where Olberic deemed to be a good spot, Erhardt tapped Olberic on the shoulder so he was looking at him, stood a little bit on tip-toe, and pressed his lips gently against Olberic’s.  Usually, PDA from Erhardt cost _large_ sums of money, but Olberic deserved quick kisses and much, much more.  

The almost boyish smile he got back from Olberic was worth more than money, anyway.

When it finally arrived, the subway was crowded, which caused Erhardt to scowl slightly.  He liked the subway because he could get lost in people and not feel quite as important or recognizable, but, at the same time, it necessitated being around a great many people.  Even at a stop as remote as theirs, there were no seats available, so Erhardt leaned against the door opposite to the ones that would be consistently opening. Olberic stood a little bit in front of him, holding onto a pole.

“We’re about six stops away,” Olberic said.

Erhardt’s eyes flickered to the display on the wall opposite them.  He wrinkled his nose. “We have to go past two major downtown stops.”

“So we do.”

“Which means it’s going to get crowded.”

“Most likely.”

“I _hate_ when it gets crowded.”

“It’s a risk you take when you choose to travel via public transportation.”

Erhardt nodded glumly.

To his immense displeasure, upon reaching the first downtown stop, Erhardt found himself pressed flush to the door, another person uncomfortably close to him on his right.

_At least Olberic is blocking anyone else_ , Erhard grumbled internally.  The man was tall enough that he was one of those who could brace himself on the ceiling and not fall, which let people shorter than he grab onto a pole.

Erhardt turned to compliment Olberic on being a decent human while riding the subway, but his voice died when he realized their positioning.  Under non-consensual circumstances, having someone looming over you was threatening and considered sexual harassment. He was, however, dating Olberic, and the sheer sense of Olberic’s physical presence and the _smirk_ he wore made Erhardt’s mouth go dry.  

_I am not allowed to get an erection in public!_ He scolded himself.  _But, gods, he still remembers all the right buttons to push to make me consider a public restroom as a perfectly acceptable place for him to fuck me._

When even more people struggled to fit into the car they were in at the next stop, Olberic was pressed completely against Erhardt, who wanted to squirm because there were very few people who made him feel _short_.  Erhardt himself stood comfortably over six feet, which made him taller than average.  

Olberic was taller.

_Still, two can play this game,_ Erhardt thought.  It took a little maneuvering and discomfort--and a great deal of _not caring_ about if anyone overheard--to position himself so that his lips were close to Olberic’s ear.  If Olberic was going to push his buttons, Erhardt found it perfectly justified to wrench at Olberic’s.

Erhardt decided that he wouldn’t bother to describe in any more detail what he would _do_ to Olberic as a result of him finding Erhardt’s pictures, but instead laid out in exquisite and explicit detail the dreams he had had due to the pictures of Olberic that _he_ had found.  The man’s breathing became irregular the longer Erhardt spoke, and he could see that Olberic’s skin had prickled into goosebumps.  Erhardt was once again impressed by Olberic’s control over his face and body, since those were the only two outward indicators that Erhardt’s words had an effect on him.  Erhardt himself was becoming hot and bothered by recounting his dreams.

When their subway stop was announced, the doors opened at Erhardt’s back.  The two of them were almost shoved out the door by the packed horde, and only Olberic grabbing Erhardt and keeping him close stopped them from stumbling and falling.  As it was, Erhardt caught Olberic giving those who remained in the car a withering glare before letting Erhardt go. He was about to thank Olberic when his head was tilted up just enough for Olberic to catch his lips in a not-tame kiss that had Erhardt fighting to keep his arousal to himself.  It was a short but blistering contact, and Erhardt had a _very_ good feeling about what they would be up to when they got to Olberic’s apartment.

Erhardt hummed happily when Olberic pulled back.  “I should do that more often if _that_ is your punishment.”

Olberic huffed.  “You are going to be the death of me.”

Erhardt was pleased with himself as they found their way out onto street level together.  He took a brief look at Olberic to see him wearing an almost absent-minded look. Erhardt grinned, which caught Olberic’s eye and made him shake his head, although in what emotion, Erhardt wasn’t sure.

_We’re going to have sex and it’s going to be wonderful,_ Erhardt thought happily as they waited at a cross-walk about three blocks away from their shared brownstone.  _I haven't had_ good _sex since I last had it with Olberic.  There is a downside to being prestigious enough that having me as arm candy is preferable to fucking or being fucked by me._

Erhardt was lost in his musings as they waited, so Olberic groping his ass to push him forward came as a surprise.  He bit back a yelp, then turned enough to stare at Olberic, who simply gave him the most smug smirk Erhardt had ever seen.  

_Touche, I suppose,_ Erhardt thought as they finished crossing the street together.  _I’m not going to let you win, though.  I fully intend to not get too far past your front door before I’m on my hands and knees._

Erhardt gave Olberic a bright, encouraging smile, which--oddly enough--made Olberic blush.  

_Why, yes, I am encouraging you to do awful things to me in public,_ Erhardt thought as he grabbed hold of the hand that was closest to him.  It felt surprisingly good, but also kept the man from using it for less innocent purposes.

There was a sort of thrill, going into Olberic’s apartment, seeing as it was right next to his own.  

In the time since he had moved in, Olberic had clearly made the place his own.  All the walls were painted a light sky-blue, and the furniture was new, or new-ish, although clearly mass-produced, which likely meant cheap.  From what Erhardt had gleaned, Olberic wasn’t used to staying awfully long in one place, so couldn’t risk getting attached to any one particular thing.  A sofa, recliner, coffee table, kitchen table with four matching chairs, and a computer desk with swivel chair were placed within the room at seemingly random intervals.  Most were black, or a darker stain, although they all looked comfortable as well as utilitarian. A mid-sized TV was mounted on the wall, and beneath that was a small cabinet that held a wireless router, video game console, and a selection of different titles.  The walls were bare and the kitchen was impeccably clean, a bowl of various fruits sitting on the kitchen counter. The curtains that hung on either side of the living room windows were white and gauzy. Erhardt was actually a little surprised to see a bookshelf near the computer desk. 

That quick sweep and enough time to remove shoes and socks was all that Erhardt was allowed before Olberic simply picked him up and threw Erhardt over his shoulder.

Erhardt struggled to escape, out of sheer surprise more than anything else.  He wasn’t a slight man, and while he kept his body toned instead of muscular, the muscle density was still there.  He wasn’t used to being so casually man-handled, even by the clients that were larger and bulkier than he.  

“Olberic--” Erhardt began, but Olberic nudged his bedroom door open with his hip, and Erhardt had the briefest of moments to take in the man’s bedroom.  

_Blue_ was the overwhelming impression he got, but then he was forcefully placed down on a soft bed that Erhardt instinctively wanted to snuggle into.  That it smelled overwhelmingly like _Olberic_ only made the desire more intense.

However, his desire for the man himself overrode that, as did Olberic climbing up onto the bed so he was supporting himself over Erhardt on his hands and knees.  Erhardt didn’t bother to suppress a needy whine at the _darkness_ in Olberic’s eyes.  Erhardt reached up and began to deftly unbutton Olberic’s shirt, but Olberic leaned out of his (Erhardt's) reach and caught Erhardt’s hands before they could get any further down than the middle of his chest, exposing one of the more interesting scars.  

“I _was_ going to ask something a little more gentle of you,” Olberic growled.  “But it seems like I need to remind you of where you belong.” 

Erhardt moaned, although gave a token and appropriate amount of resistance.  “I am the most desired and desirable man in all of Osterra. Do you honestly think you can command me?”

“Think?  I _know_ ,” Olberic replied before leaning forward enough to press Erhardt’s hands against his own chest, keep them there with one hand, and then roll Erhardt onto his stomach.  The lurch left Erhardt’s head briefly spinning, enough for Olberic to place enough pressure to keep Erhardt’s hands pinned beneath him and removed Erhardt’s pants and underwear together.

Erhardt attempted to squirm from beneath Olberic’s pressure, and managed to get his knees under him--which, naturally, served the dual purpose of exposing himself to Olberic, as was the _actual_ point.

Olberic pushed Erhardt’s hips back down, which also moved him a little more towards the headboard, and, hopefully, lube and condoms and sex.  The movement, admittedly, also dislodged his hands so he could get them out from beneath them, and he reached out to find purchase on something.  To his absolute delight _,_ Olberic used Erhardt’s own pants to form makeshift handcuffs before looping them around some part of his bed and tightening them so Erhardt’s chest was lifted slightly off the bed itself.

“You really think this’ll stop me?” Erhardt challenged and tugged and twisted _hard_ on the cloth.  He really didn’t care if he lost the pants, as he was next door to his own apartment and had felt like going shopping recently.

“Please, try to escape,” Olberic drawled.  

Erhardt heard the shift of clothing and tried to see what exactly Olberic was doing, but his own arms blocked his line of sight.

_The asshole!_ Erhardt thought, feeling almost proud.  _He knows I like his body, so he hides it from me, tortures me with_ guessing.

He shivered as Olberic removed his jewelry, making sure to stay mostly out of sight, allowing Erhardt only brief glimpses.  

_Oh, just_ fuck _me, please!_ Erhardt thought, his body starting to overheat from arousal.  

To Erhardt’s partial wish, Olberic lifted his hips so Erhardt was resting on his knees and began to prepare him; Erhardt let out a shuddering sigh at how Olberic was _clearly_ using the least amount of lube necessary.  Erhardt kept himself from pushing back into the sensation, although it was a close thing.

“How inconsiderate,” Erhardt said, his voice probably muffled a little bit by the sheets and his own body.  “Use a little more lube than that.”

“Me?  Inconsiderate?  You should be grateful I’m using lube at all considering how _inconsiderate_ you were on the subway,” Olberic said and pushed his fingers in a little rougher than comfortable, which _did_ make Erhardt’s body buck a little.

“Don’t think that _you_ weren’t at fault,” Erhardt said, struggling to focus enough to talk.  “Standing over me like that--borderline sexual harassment and yet incredibly hot.  You know I like how, ah, _large_ you are.”

Olberic snorted derisively and Erhardt yelped when Olberic found his (Erhardt’s) sweet spot.

_Holy fucking hell, he’s not going to dick me, is he?_ Erhardt thought.  _Just finger-fuck me when all I want is him taking me hard enough I see stars._

It turned out that wasn’t _quite_ what Olberic had planned, since, more or less in time to the thrusts of his fingers, Olberic stroked Erhardt’s erection, making Erhardt moan into the sheets.  

“Olberic, just _take me_ ,” Erhardt half snarled even as his body couldn’t decide if it wanted to thrust into Olberic’s hand or back into the penetration.  “Please, I’m dying to have your dick in me.”

“No,” Olberic said, drawing out the word, although he did pick up the pace of both his penetration and the hand job.  

Erhardt whine in protest.  “You’ve prepared me enough even if you are above-average in both aspects.  If this is about not having condoms, there are some in my purse. But, I _am_ disease-free--I run a test every month--so if you want to take me without bothering with condoms, that’s okay, too.  That’s not an option I offer at all on my price list, so I really will be yours, and only yours and--”

Erhardt was pleased that he had found the right buttons to push to get Olberic to give a low, lustful moan.  

“You’re sure?” Olberic asked, his voice briefly tentative and gentle.

“Absolutely,” Erhardt said.  “ _Please_ , come in me so I can carry at least a small part of you with me inside my body, if only for a little while.”

Erhardt did miss the presence of Olberic’s hands, but the shift and rustle of clothing, then the dip in the mattress made Erhardt shiver.

The best--and worst--part was how _slow_ Olberic penetrated him, as if drawing out sensation on every millimeter of Erhardt’s body.  Erhardt groaned into the pillow when Olberic was finally fully within him, his (Erhardt’s) hands clenched tightly around the cloth handcuffs.  

Olberic equally slowly pulled back and Erhardt said, “Come on, _harder_.  I always have to think, make it so the only thing I can think about is you and how wonderful you make me feel.”

Olberic chuckled darkly and Erhardt hummed in anticipation.

Erhardt had forgotten that rough sex with Olberic was _rough_ sex, and was pretty sure he hadn’t made the kinds of sounds he did in literal years as Olberic took him so hard that the bed moved and rattled the nearby bedside table enough that something _thunked_ onto the floor.  

Thinking quickly stopped being a viable option, and Erhardt spiraled into the feeling of _Olberic--_ Olberic moving inside him, Olberic’s scent around him, the softness of the sheets, and being _embodied._   He didn’t have to plan or pay attention to anyone else--he trusted Olberic would find his own completion without his (Erhardt’s) help--and when Erhardt _did_ finally come, it made him see stars as he screamed Olberic’s name, his body succumbing to sensation .

It took Olberic only a few more thrusts before he stilled with a near _snarl_ of Erhardt’s name.  

Their harsh breathing was the only sound in the room, and the musky scent of sex hung thick in the air.  Olberic pulled out and Erhardt groaned in a combination of relief and dismay as he _flumped_ down onto the bed, not caring about the cum that he was likely getting on his shirt, which hadn’t been removed because of how Erhardt had been positioned.  

He felt Olberic move around a little bit, but was too happily caught in a haze to do anything.  When Olberic finally untied him, Erhardt saw that his wrists were slightly pink from rug-burn, but did not care at all.

_That’s what bracelets are for,_ he thought as he was nudged onto his back.  He purred as Olberic gently removed the rest of his (Erhardt’s) clothes, then snuggled into Olberic’s body once the man stretched out beside him.  

“I didn’t hurt you?” Olberic asked as he stroked Erhardt’s neck, back, and shoulders.

“Oh, I’m definitely going to be sore,” Erhardt responded and nuzzled Olberic’s neck before placing a kiss over his still-hammering pulse.   “And it’s going to be _lovely_ because every time my body complains, I’ll remember _why_ it is complaining, and will probably have to fight to not pop a random boner thinking of this.”

Olberic snorted and kissed the top of Erhardt’s head.  “Next time I want to see your face, but…”

“But we were pushing each others turn-ons a little too hard for it to be happy gentle sex,” Erhardt said and slipped an arm over Olberic’s waist, letting it rest gently on his hip.  “I do have a question, though.”

“Yes?”

“Once we both can ever _consider_ moving again, may I give you a bath?”

“Pardon?” Olberic said and pulled back enough to look at Erhardt.

“I want to give you a bath,” Erhardt repeated.  “I enjoy touching your body and we both need to get cleaned up after this, but I’m not quite up for shower sex.”

“Literally _and_ metaphorically?”

Erhardt laughed and gently shoved Olberic.  “ _Olberic_!  I really am a bad influence on you, aren’t I?”

Olberic gave him a lop-sided grin and tugged Erhardt into a gentle, lingering kiss.  Once it broke, Olberic said, “Yes, I will let you give me a bath, even if that sounds a little odd to me.”

“I’ll throw in a bit of massage, don’t worry,” Erhardt said.  “All you need to do is relax and let me take care of you.”

“...very well.”

Erhardt felt strange, happy bubbles rise and burst in him, and he leaned into Olberic, catching him in another kiss as he savored the feeling of Olberic’s naked body pressed against his own.  

_This is more than endorphin-high happy,_ he thought as Olberic returned the kiss and looped an arm around Erhardt’s waist, catching him in a loose hug.  

The three dangerous words rattled around in Erhardt’s head, but he shoved them to the side for the moment.  

_It’s too early,_ he thought as the kiss broke.  _Maybe soon, though._

“I like this,” Erhardt said as he caught and held Olberic’s eyes.  “How are _you_ feeling?”

Olberic’s eyes were gentle as he carefully tucked a stray strand of hair behind Erhardt’s ear.  “I feel...really good. It’s been some time since I had anything like _that_.  But, I like this, too.  I actually think I like this part better than…”

“Than when you were taking me so hard I think we may have scratched the walls quite a bit from how vigorous it was?” Erhardt finished for Olberic.

Olberic cleared his throat as a blush crept across his face.  “Yes.”

Erhardt gave Olberic a quick, chaste kiss before he said, “I know just how small your tub is, so it will be a bit tight when I sit behind you, but I’m sure we can work something out.”

Olberic laughed softly and gave Erhardt a quick kiss in return.  “Yes, we will. Regarding that and many other things.”

Erhardt had never felt quite so warm.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cycling through three different fanfics means that I can update weekly with relative certainty. Yay!
> 
> As always, nothing Octopath Traveler belongs to me.

Erhardt very rarely had reason to be in Flamesgrace.  While the Church and Institute often had the same goals, they approached it from vastly different angles.  He appreciated and respected the Church and its reach, he simply wasn’t a pious man. He had seen too much of the darkness in human hearts to truly believe.  He still paid tribute to the gods--best to be on their good sides if they _were_ real--and donated to the Church, but they were gestures made out of gratitude and caution, not actual belief.  He favored Sealticge and Bifelgan, but also left tribute to Winnehild--it never hurt to have a powerful warrior goddess on your side.

That Mattias had asked to meet in the Cathedral was odd, and having had sex with one of the most prominent members of the Church didn’t make Erhardt particularly at ease spending time in _the_ Cathedral of the Sacred Flame, either.  That he and Mattias were meeting to probably discuss human trafficking opportunities while inside a holy place felt profane and, yet, Erhardt had a feeling that such was exactly _why_ Mattias had chosen it.  There was a darkness to Mattias that had grown the longer Erhardt knew him--particularly since the man even _knew_ who Werner was.  The only people who knew of Werner--let alone how the name could potentially affect _Erhardt_ \--were those who had worked not only with Werner but, potentially, _him_ when he was younger.  

 _Even back then, I would have remembered him, though.  Mattias is a distinctive man,_ Erhardt thought as he sat in the pew.  _If Mattias recognizes me from back then, that means he is knee deep in Werner’s business.  But, how? And, if he knows who I am and, thus, my involvement...who else does?_

It was not a comfortable thought.

It was in between services, and a tour group was going around the perimeter of the Cathedral, one of the Sisters explaining the different pieces of artwork, their historical and religious meaning, and so on.  Erhardt’s mother had been a religious woman, so he knew the stories of all the gods, although had found out later that her interpretation of most of them had been...non-standard, to put it lightly.  

Erhardt took a deep breath of the incense-laden air and let it out in a heavy sigh.  _This is not going to be enjoyable.  Maybe I can convince Olberic to have phone sex with me later to make things better.  Maybe even video-chat so I can watch him masturbate. That would be nice._

Erhardt was happily lost in musings of what exactly that would be like, the look on Olberic’s face just as he was about to come, when a much less enjoyable reality intruded on his fantasy.

“Ah, Sir Erhardt, there you are!”

Erhardt wanted to roll his eyes.  He stood out, and he knew it. Red and gold were never subtle, although he had, out of perhaps some sort of perversion, chosen to wear white as well.  He wore a red turtleneck with a simple gold chain and ruby pendant, ruby drop-earrings, and a ruby and diamond ring. White dress slacks were held up by a gold-colored belt, and white, lace-up boots were on his feet.  A red, lightweight coat was folded in his lap.    

He turned in the pew and gave Mattias a smile, although he didn’t bother to stand. “Mattias, a pleasure.”  

Mattias still had his ridiculous coat on, although the clothing beneath it was much better suited to the colder clime.  His entire ensemble--except his coat, of course--was completely black, although everything was impeccably tailored. Mattias’ smile had an edge to it that Erhardt didn’t like.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked and gestured to the space next to Erhardt.  

“Of course,” Erhardt replied, but stood so Mattias could take an inside seat.  Erhardt didn’t like being _trapped_.  He sat back down once Mattias had passed him, and barely kept himself from sneezing at the obnoxious cologne the man had chosen to wear.  Erhardt had found that that was the one thing that men had trouble with the most--their cologne.

Once Mattias had settled down in the pew, he asked, “Are you a believer, Sir Erhardt?”

“In what?” Erhardt asked.

Mattias tutted.  “Don’t play dense.  _This_ , Sir Erhardt,” he said and, with a wide gesture, encompassed much of the Cathedral.  “Is Osterra’s most famous whore a pious man?”

 _Oh, well then,_ Erhardt though.  _Jumping into this off the bat, are we?_

“I believe that the Church has power,” Erhardt responded, not bothering to turn to look at Mattias.  “And that the gods have power because the people place their faith in them. I myself...” Erhardt dredged up a phrase he had heard Werner say time and again, “The only cause a man needs is himself.  Might is the one truth before which all things must yield.”

Mattias hummed, and Erhardt could barely see that the man wore a smirk from his peripheral vision.  

“Humans are desperate to _believe_ ,” Mattias replied.  “Life is so _very_ difficult, full of tragedy, despair, war, illness...how we endure is remarkable.”

“Hope,” Erhardt murmured.  “Sometimes, the only thing to cling to is hope, which makes people examine an...opportunity...less critically than they should.”

“They are all too eager to be saved,” Mattias agreed.  “The strings and conditions seem...inconsequential.”

“I have an appointment soon,” Erhardt said.  “And I am sure that you are a busy man yourself, so if we could please dispense with the pleasantries…?”

“But Sir Erhardt is known for his _pleasing_ company and scintillating conversation,” Mattias purred and leaned back in the pew so that his arm slipped around behind Erhardt.  “And I have your time without having to pay a single leaf. Let me _luxuriate_ in it.”

Erhardt turned enough to look at Mattias fully, reached out slowly and slid his fingers down the curve of Mattias’ face.  “There are much better ways to _luxuriate_ in my presence than speaking.”  He let his fingers continue down until they hooked on Mattias’ tie.  “Which I may...provide...you with if I am given something in advance.  It’s standard business practice--half payment up front, the rest after _services_ have been rendered.”

“Why, Sir Erhardt, not in a _church_ ,” Mattias drawled, his hand covering Erhardt’s wrist.  

“The Lady of Grace is a patron of those such as myself,” Erhardt responded.  “This is as much a place of worship of her as of Aelfric.”

“You are a much different man in private,” Mattias observed.

“I am a much different man when required to fulfill the terms of employment, as you seem to understand quite well,” Erhardt purred and leaned back into Mattai’s pseudo-embrace, his grip on Mattias’ tie pulling him back slightly as well.  “And I have many _services_ that are off the record.  There are some...pleasures of the _flesh_ that can’t be advertised.”

Mattias’ smile was cruel, even if his voice was pleasant, “You _are_ a man of many skills, aren’t you?  Then again, you’ve traveled all over Osterra and met many people, haven’t you?”

“Quite a few who have been in need of a new home.”

“It’s truly _tragic_ , how often our most sacred and esteemed ‘institutions’ fail so many, and are actually the cause of so much pain and suffering.  There are other ways to help the downtrodden of this world.”

Mattias had been slowly shifting so that he was _much_ closer to Erhardt and the arm that had been resting behind him had been slowly bending so Mattias’ elbow rested on Erhardt’s shoulder, his hand pressed palm-flat against Erhardt’s chest, right over his heart.  

“The Cliftlands are so _barren_ ,” Mattias purred almost in Erhardt’s ear.  “And your ilk _so_ mistreated.  How has the Institute not helped them yet?”

“The Institute has its limits.  Surely we can help you transcend something as paltry as borders.”

“We?” Mattias repeated, intrigued as he shifted so his hand was resting lightly below Erhardt’s throat.  “I can’t imagine the Institute being willing to do what is necessary.”

“I did not mean the Institute.”

Mattias gently played with the gold chain of Erhardt’s necklace as he said, his voice low and _menacing,_   “I knew you’d only be able to slip your leash for so long.”

Erhardt closed his eyes and forced his breathing to remain even.  Silence, in this case, was the best answer.  

“People like you can never escape your past,” Mattias murmured to him, his lips close enough to Erhardt’s ear to make him want to shudder.  “No matter how high you try to climb, no matter how many friends you make, no matter what futile wish you cling to, you are less than _nothing._   Learn to like your leash again, since I imagine you won’t escape this time.”

“There is nowhere to escape to,” Erhardt responded, keeping his voice neutral even as his eyes opened to stare ahead.

Mattias laughed, the sound low and malignant.  He pulled back and Erhardt let his tie go, remaining still otherwise.

“In that case, I look forward to a fruitful collaboration,” Mattias said.  “With your...help...I will be the _savior_ of the lost.”  A card was slid underneath Erhardt’s palm that rested on his coat.   “For you. Now, as you said, we’re both busy men, aren’t we? All the _opportunities_ I spoke of shall be presented there.  Do bid _him_ hello for me.”

Erhardt slid the card into his pants pocket as he stood, stepped out of the pew, and gestured for Mattias to exit, although he never looked at Mattias, instead focusing on the statue of Steorra on the wall behind him.  If one good thing was coming out of this interaction, it was a certain smug knowledge that he was taller than Mattias. 

Mattias strode out, and--as Erhardt had suspected would happen--grabbed Erhardt by his jacket and pulled him into an embrace that was just barely not a kiss.  Erhardt didn’t bother to resist, since that only played into the persona he was crafting.  

 _Better to play the pliant whore than the defiant escort,_ Erhardt thought.

“It was a _pleasure_ speaking with you,” Mattias purred in his ear before pushing him away and back into the pew.  Mattias’ emphasis on the word ‘pleasure’ was slimy, sickening.  

Erhardt said nothing as he watched Mattias leave.  Once he was sure the man was out the door, he dusted himself off in an attempt to remove some of man’s miasma before meandering over to a large mural on the eastern wall of the cathedral.

The Fall of Galdera.

Whomever had created the mural was quite skilled, the images rendered in brilliant color. Aelfric stood at the top of the mural, wreathed in brilliant blue-white flame. The other members of the pantheon descended down the wall, holding off minions of death and darkness. Balogar and Winnehild stood to either side of the Flamebringer, holding off any assailants that tried to snuff out the sacred flame. Alephan was reading out of his tome of mysteries, robes billowing as he cradled lightning in his hands. Dreisang stood with his staff held high, ice spreading out before him.  Sealticge, veils waving around her as she spun, her daggers trailing blood. Aeber on the opposite side of the mural from Sealticge, more suggestion and shadow as he stood behind two falling demons, their throats cut. Bifelgan and Dohter were standing opposite each other on the mural, Bifelgan rebuilding humanity from destruction as the Dohter breathed life back into the ravaged flora and fauna. Steorra was in the middle of the mural, the light from her globe driving away the darkness that threatened Draefendi, who braced herself over Galdera’s supine body, her arrow notched to pierce Galdera's heart, and Brand, whose sword was aimed at his throat. Even as the 13th god lay on his back, he still reached out, claws extended in rage and the desire for power. 

 _It is in collaboration that we can bring down the darkness,_ Erhardt thought as he played with his ring. 

"You know, there are two stories to be told of the fallen 13th god."

Erhardt turned to see Ophilia come up beside him, she clothed in traditional garments of the church. Her robe was simple white, surprisingly form-fitting, with pale blue highlights that betrayed her status in the church.  A shoulder cape fell slightly off her shoulders, clasped at the base of her throat, the insignia of the Church a bold gold brooch holding the sides together. She had the tiniest bit of lip gloss and eyeshadow, and he was pleased to see that she still wore the blue topaz studs.

"I know one of them," Erhardt said and turned back to the mural. "My mother told me the story of the daughter of the dark god and the eight heroes who defeated her and her minions to save the world from destruction. She said it was the more interesting story of the two."

"Considering that the other is merely 'the twelve goods banned together to banish Galdera to the darkness,' I think your mother is right," Ophelia said with a smile. “Who was your favorite?”

“Character in the story?”

“Yes.”

Erhardt paused.  “You’d think it’d be Sealticge’s chosen, wouldn’t you?”

“Not necessarily.  Just because she is the goddess that speaks to you doesn’t mean that the woman she selected needs to be your favorite.”

Erhardt inclined his head.  “It’s always been Brand’s chosen.”

“Oh?”

Erhardt nodded absently, his eyes focusing on the warrior god.  “A tale of tragedy overcome, of belief in himself regained, a friendship rekindled…”  Erhardt smiled faintly. “Then he was deemed worthy by not one but _two_ gods, his strength undeniable, his drive to protect his friends, the world, unflinching in the face of a dark deity that took twelve gods working together to put down.  That kind of resolve was...inspirational.” Erhardt snorted. “Although I am glad that the gods have left me alone. I don’t think I could handle that much responsibility.”

Ophilia chuckled softly.  “I liked the tale of Draefendi’s chosen.  To regain her family she faced down a monster capable of turning flesh to stone, her determination and dedication unwavering even in the face of a danger that could have her suffering the same fate as her father.”

“I think...sometimes our favorite characters are ones we want to emulate ourselves,” Erhardt murmured.  After a pause, Erhardt asked: “What does the Church say of redemption?”

“Pardon?”

Erhardt looked to Ophilia.  “I know that a tenant of the Flame is forgiveness.  What of redemption?”

“Redemption,” she repeated.  

“Atonement, if you’d prefer,” Erhardt said, turning his attention back to the mural.  “Does the Church say that there are those who don’t deserve redemption, who can never atone?”

Ophilia was silent for a long moment.  “Atonement is the easier answer. Atonement requires self-forgiveness.  A person can never atone until they forgive themselves for their ‘sin’. If they are able to look at themselves with the eyes of Aelfric, to treat themselves with mercy and forgiveness, then the atonement will not be mere self-flagellation, but a true and honest effort to undo the wrongs they have committed.  Atonement is possible, but it requires seeing beyond one’s own pain and ego to do so.”

Erhardt nodded slightly.  “Wise words for such a young woman.”

“As for redemption…” Ophilia paused.  “I have no answer for that. I suppose I still have some training to complete.”

Erhardt gave her an encouraging smile.  “I think you did wonderfully on my impromptu theological exam.”

Ophilia chuckled softly, then smiled.  "What brings you to Flamesgrace, Sir Erhardt?" 

"Business," Erhardt replied, which was true. He had an event he was attending as well as his _discussion_ with Mattias. “I rarely travel for my own pleasure.  What are you here for?”

Ophilia smiled gently.  “You don’t keep much track of the Church year, do you?”

“No, not really.”

“Come, then.  There’s another mural directly across the church from this one,” Ophilia said and carefully took one of Erhardt’s hands in her own.

Erhardt blinked, surprised, but followed her.  When they came to stop in front of the other mural, Erhardt smiled faintly.  “The story my mother preferred.”

The figures of the gods were no longer masked, but bore very human faces, the masks falling away from them.  Where Aelfric once stood was a young woman, her hands carrying an ember of the sacred flame contained within the blessed sphere of Steorra.  Balogar’s runeblade was held by a young woman in Bifelgan’s attire, she standing at the ready to protect civilization from the darkness that would seek to crush it, as a young man in Dohter’s garb tended to the wounded and broken. A woman with Dreisang's robe open to reveal the traditional garb of Sealticge spun on her heel, fire spreading out in front of her as she braced herself for an assailant. On the opposite side of the mural, a man read from Alephan's tome, his cape whipping around him as he pulled back a hand to unleash a torrent of ice. The three Dragonstones were held in a protective embrace of the man who embodied Aeber, bright marks of color against smokey black and purple, a Fool's Bangle encircling the wrist that held a dagger. Draefendi's chosen woman held an arrow notched as a large, white leopard launched itself at a creature of darkness and burning red eyes. And at the bottom, stood the man chosen by Brand and Winnehild, the weapons and arms of the goddess spread out behind him in almost a kind of halo, Brand's sword held up to deliver a final, lethal strike. However, one of the hands of Galdera was fading away and turning into a human one, reaching for assistance instead of clawing forth in anger, and Brand's chosen was reaching out as well. 

No one knew their true faces or names, or even if they were real, but it made the struggle human instead of divine, and Erhardt was sure that there was some moral lesson as well. 

“Today is the celebration of the Defeat of Galdera,” Ophilia said.  “It’s a different day than that celebrating the _gods’_ triumph.  I imagine that you’ll be attending the gala that will be held later tonight and were told to pick a costume that represented your interpretation of a god or goddess.”

Erhardt smiled.  “Well, I always love a reason to dress up, so I didn’t entirely care _why_ , but it’s good to know the reason.”

“Odd, however, that you didn’t know.  It has become quite a popular secular holiday as well.”

“I will admit to being out of touch with the rhythm of the seasons,” Erhardt said.  “I know it in terms of award ceremonies and galas, opening nights and final performances.  Holidays are mere alerts in my calendar that mean I can charge more for any services on that day.”

“You don’t spend any time with Mr. Leon on holidays?”

Erhardt shook his head slowly.  “I set aside time for our birthdays and a few sadder anniversaries.  Holidays have never mattered much to me aside from an opportunity to make more money.  Perhaps they should. Will you be attending the gala tonight?”

“No, I’m helping with services,” Ophilia replied.  “ Lianna, father, and Eliza have _convinced_ me to assume the role of Aelfric’s chosen.”

“By ‘convinced,’ you mean told you the part you were to play,” Erhardt said, a small laugh in his voice.  

Ophilia smiled at him and turned her attention to the mural.  “It’s refreshing, though, to see that Aelfric would choose a woman as his champion.”

Erhardt nodded and looked to the mural as well.

A gentle silence hung between them, the cathedral’s heating system kicking on in the distance as light filtered through stained glass windows that splashed color across the wood floor.  

“I don’t like Mattias,” Ophilia said abruptly.

“I don’t like him much either,” Erhardt agreed.

“Then why did you let him touch you like he did?  Your face looked so... _empty._ ”

Erhardt looked to her, surprised but unwilling to show it.  “Sometimes, I must take on roles and jobs I don’t exactly _enjoy_.”

“I would think that you’d be able to choose only clients you would,” Ophilia said, confused.

Erhardt caught and held Ophilia’s eyes for a long moment, thinking.  There was a lack of guile, apparent concern, and a tiny bit of anger, although Erhardt wasn’t sure if it was directed at him or not, in her eyes and expression.  

“Sometimes, you have to do things for the Church that you find annoying or inconvenient, right, Miss Clement?”

Ophilia nodded slowly.  “Very rarely, though. And if I do, I find a way to make it a little more palatable--helping others, personal growth, and so on...out of adversity and annoyance can come great gifts.”

“Even though I’m a freelancer, I am still technically employed by the Institute and the government.  Sometimes, I’m required to do things that I would rather not because of those obligations. Unfortunately, with my profession, it tends to require a bit more...willingness to place my body in harm’s way.”

“Nonetheless, your feelings on the matter should be considered as well.”

Erhardt smiled sadly.  “You are too kind for this world, Miss Clement.”

She blushed slightly, but gave him a smile.  “So, which god are you going to be attending the ball as?”

“Steorra,” Erhardt said, gesturing to the statue not too far away.  “Do you _see_ her fashion sense?  I get to show off my body and look beautiful all at once.”

Ophilia laughed.  “I imagine it must be difficult wearing so much blue when you favor red so heavily.  I’d think you would want Winniheld or Sealtige, since they more closely match your color scheme.”

“Who is to say I haven’t put my own spin on the costume?” Erhardt responded with a wink.  “Wigs are annoying and I’m not going to dye my hair, so it would necessarily be different.  I had a grand time designing it.”

“Do you have pictures?” Ophilia asked, clearly curious.

“Of course,” Erhardt responded and fished his phone out of his coat.  After a few taps, he handed over the phone to Ophilia.

She nearly dropped it as her face went bright red.

“I _knew_ that she was one of the...less modest...goddesses, but I suppose I didn’t know what that would look like on a person.  The Starseer isn’t one of the more popular goddesses,” she said, although she flicked through a few more pictures.  

Erhardt paused, then quashed an evil smile.  “It’s a little bit difficult to put on by myself, you know, and I don’t have my usual assistant with me.  Do you think you could help me?”

Ophilia _stared_ at him and handed his phone back over.  

“What?” she half-stuttered.  

“I need help getting into the costume,” Erhardt repeated.  “And I’d also like to recruit you as a photographer. I’d like to send a few photos to Olberic.”

Ophilia laughed at that and her smile was easier.  “I suppose I can help, then, since it’s hard to get a good full-body shot on your own.”

“Wonderful,” he said and offered her his arm.  “Shall we away? I’ll have to show you the costume first and it will likely take some time to get it on correctly.”

“How scandalous, me clad in the uniform of the Church seen leaving the cathedral with Sir Erhardt,” Ophilia said as she slipped her arm through his.  

“Not half as scandalous as what I’ve heard you and H’aanit have been up to,” Erhardt said lightly as they started to walk.

Erhardt had never seen someone’s face quite so red before.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing Octopath Traveler belongs to me.

The last birthday party that Erhardt had attended was Cordelia's, and it was a much different affair than the one he was currently attending. Tressa's birthday was held in the park close to the Coffee Monster and that Erhardt's apartment overlooked. They had rented a few tables and a wide array of food was spread out on one as a small pile of presents was on the other. There was a gaudy happy birthday banner hung on the edge of one of the table and a few balloons tied onto the other. The weather was slightly overcast and cool, which Erhardt didn't mind. There was a surprisingly large amount of people in attendance, and Erhardt recognized only the people from the coffee shop--both regular patrons and employees. It was nice to see Tressa's parents, and Cyrus was happily chatting up a group of people who seemed aware that flirtatious comments were just a result of how he spoke. The birthday girl herself was flitting between her friends, which made Erhardt smile. 

He had needed to literally drag Leon to the party, which was a bit of a feat, considering Leon was physically stronger than he.

"See?" Erhardt said and looked to his brother. "Absolutely nothing to worry about. Just a few more hours and she is yours for the taking."

"Erhardt," Leon sighed. 

"So what do you think you'll do first? I'm sure that as a sailor you have experience _diving for pearls,_ so perhaps there?"

"Erhardt, it's not that easy," Leon sighed. 

Erhardt gave Leon an incredulous look. "Yes, it is? She wants you, you want her, you both care for each other to the point that _I_ feel your pain, and being friends with both of you makes that awful. I do not see where the hang up is. Consider it your birthday gift to her."

"I love her."

"All the more reason to treat her to sex as a gift."

Leon shook his head. "It needs to be...you're going to laugh at me."

"I promise to not laugh."

"Really?"

Erhardt nodded. 

"I want it to have more meaning than just 'Congratulations, you are now older than my fiance when he died so I'm not as afraid to be with you.'"

"That makes sense," Erhardt said. 

Leon stared at him.

"What?" Erhardt asked. 

"You...really? _You_ really think so?"

"I am fully capable of being romantic when I want to," Erhardt said. 

“Since when?”

“Since always, I think,” Erhardt said with a shrug.  “Gustav has called me a _neglected romantic_ long enough.”

“A neglected romantic, huh?” Leon said, sounding more amused than Erhardt thought he should be.

“What did you get her, then, if you’re not going to take her home and make her come until she cries from pleasure?” Erhardt asked.

Leon’s face flushed briefly and he cleared his throat.  “Well, I may have...two gifts for her. One that is something I would feel comfortable giving to her in front of her parents.  The second...not quite so.”

Erhardt flashed Leon a salacious grin and gently nudged him with his elbow, saying, “That’s my little brother.”

Leon snorted, although couldn’t entirely suppress a smirk of his own.  The expression quickly turned to curiosity as he said, “Question.”

“Answer.”

“Are you and Olberic _dating_ as well as _fucking_?”

Erhardt played with a strand of hair for a moment before saying, “I like to think so.  I think he’d say that.”

“Really?  You...you actually _have_ gone on a date with Olberic? I wasn't hallucinating?"

"Dates, plural," Erhardt corrected before his eyes narrowed in suspicion.  "And you weren't spying on us, were you?"

"No, I was, um...avoiding Tressa, and saw you two just taking a walk here. Holding hands. You both looked so _relaxed._ "

Erhardt smiled. "It’s nice sometimes to do something that simple. Maybe that is where you should start since there is seemingly no convincing you to have sex first to release the tension that has been building and _then_ worry about romance."

Leon snorted. "It’s been quite a few years since I was with anyone, Erhardt. I want to be sure…"

"If you are doubting your sexual prowess, the Institute is always looking for volunteers to help with practical exams," Erhardt said with a wink. "Part of the paperwork says that you're required to make the trainee orgasm, too. So, if you want some practice of your own as well as helping aspiring escorts, there is always that as an option."

Leon shook his head. "I know, Erhardt, I _was_ around when you were in training. Capability isn't the problem. It's that I'd be making love to _Tressa_ and that makes a very big difference."

"Shouldn't that make things _easier_?" Erhardt asked, incredulous.  From his experience with Olberic, being emotionally invested in him had made it genuinely easier and more fun to have sex.

"No! I want to...I want to impress her, make her _happy_ , for it to be a good experience for her. I care about her, so I worry too much."

Erhardt frowned, then lightly flicked Leon's ear. "You're overthinking. Want to  know a secret?"

"What?"

"She's as nervous as you are. She doesn't talk about it as much anymore at our teas, but we do talk about you sometimes, when it is just she and I. She cares for you very much, which is why her lewd texts stopped. Which is why she is so insistent. She's afraid that if she stops showing interest that _you_ will _lose_ interest."

"But, that's not…" Leon trailed off. 

"That's not true? That's not going to happen?" Erhardt finished. "She doesn't and can’t know that unless you tell her."

Leon ran his fingers through his hair. "But, I feel like I've been pushing her away so hard and so long that it would be almost hypocritical to encourage her or pursue her myself."

"The heart is a fickle thing," Erhardt said. "Just because you feel one thing today means that you'll feel the same way tomorrow."

Leon snorted. "Getting philosophical now?"

"I make my living playing off the feelings and desires of other people," Erhardt pointed out. "Less philosophy and more personal experience."

After a small silence, Erhardt began, "I still think--"

"No."

"But, stress relief--"

"No."

"It would feel good?"

"Erhardt."

"You deserve--"

"Nothing."

"Pleasure!"

Leon sighed as Erhardt scowled. 

"Why are you so _resistant_?!" Erhardt demanded.

"Because…" Leon sighed. "Because I always end up losing nice things."

"Okay, small heart to heart before I get distracted," Erhardt said and focused on his brother. "I felt the exact same thing. 'I can't have anything truly good because I'll lose it or break it. Better to push it away so I don't risk getting hurt.' That didn’t work. In fact, it failed spectacularly. You've never been one to back down from a challenge--why start now?"

"I've only and always had Tressa in mind, in making sure she isn’t hurt, either because of my insecurities or other people's prejudices.  Our age gap doesn't look good to many people."

"That's an excuse, and a poor one at that.  You've been balking because you've been _afraid_ and, trust me, I get that. But, do you want to always be afraid? Of hurting her or getting hurt? What kind of life would that be for her? For you?"

Leon ran his fingers through his hair and grimaced. "Baltazar...wouldn't want this, would he?"

"No," Erhardt said. "He'd want you to be happy. You know what is a good way to make people happy?"

"I'm not having sex with her today!"

"But maybe tomorrow?"

" _Gods,_ Erhardt," Leon grumbled.

"I'd be fine with sex today, but I can wait another day."

Erhardt barely squashed a smirk as Tressa joined their conversation. 

"I mean, what is another day?" Tressa posed. "My vibrator can get me through one more lonely night."

Leon's face gained a slight pink tinge, and Erhardt did not bother to hide his smirk at that. "Do you really want to make her suffer? You've already drawn that out long enough, I think, for both of you."

Leon’s face gained a slightly darker pink shade when he finally _looked_ at Tressa. "I…"

Tressa was wearing clothes that highlighted her every asset--Primrose, Tressa, and he had agonized for two hours until they had crafted the perfect Leon-seduction outfit.  It was clearly working, if how Leon's eyes were constantly drawn back to particular places and how he shifted uncomfortably were any indication.

"You know I still live with my parents, but I'm perfectly okay with it if that is your thing," Tressa said, her voice and expression completely innocent. "I wouldn't object to going home with you, though."

Leon shook his head, the color not leaving his face.  "No, it’s...tomorrow is better. I need some time to clean."

"You keep your apartment compulsively neat," Erhardt said. "It comes from having spent time at sea. You don't have a lot of space so you cant let it clutter, right?."

Leon glared at him, and Erhardt shrugged.  _Maybe Tressa and I double teaming him will make him finally cave and see that resistance is futile?  I doubt it, but anything is worth a shot._

"I can deal with a little mess, anyway," Tressa said. "Easier for me to steal a T-shirt or something so I always have something of yours with me."

Leon looked absolutely pained at hearing that.

"You know, you could always just give up,” Erhardt said. "What's the point of resisting?"

Leon opened his mouth to speak, then sighed. "Are you really going to _force_ me into this?"

"I'm not saying you _have_ to, just that it wouldn't be the worst idea," Erhardt said. 

Tressa nodded, even if her expression was slightly morose. "I'll give up on today, if that's really what you want.”  Determined fire returned to her eyes after only a second, though. “I'm going to try again tomorrow, though. Because…”  Tressa caught and held Leon’s eyes. “Because I really _do_ love you, Leon.”

It was extremely difficult to stay quiet and keep a teasing remark to himself, but Erhardt knew when to keep his mouth shut--it had been a lesson learned in blood and bruises.

"I…" Leon sighed and carefully reached out and gently ran his fingers through Tressa's hair. "I love you, too."

from the look on Tressa's face, there was no better birthday present than hearing those words. 

Even though Erhardt _desperately_ wanted to stay and listen, he knew when to make an exit. It was difficult for him to be subtle--he was an escort, not a dancer--but he slipped away as quietly as he could, leaving them to each other. 

_I have no idea how that worked, but I'm not going to split hairs if it did,_ Erhardt thought, not sure whether to feel pleased with himself, Tressa, Leon, or all of them.  So, he settled on Leon for _finally_ stopping being an ass so he could possibly get some. 

"So, Leon finally said what Tressa has been dying to hear?" Cyrus asked, although his tone said it was more-or-less rhetorical. 

"He did," Erhardt confirmed as Cyrus handed him a cupcake, although Erhardt was briefly of the opinion that Cyrus looked the more delectable between the two.  _Damn, does the man know how to dress._

"Shouldn't we wait to eat these since they're in place of a whole cake?" Erhardt asked aloud.

"She was coming over to you two to tell you that the cupcakes were going to be distributed, but clearly that plan was derailed. I figure that, since I'm not sure when they will be done speaking, we should enjoy the cupcakes even in their absence.  As long as there is one left, we can sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Tressa. Or, rather, you all can. My singing voice is gods-awful."

Erhardt laughed and took the cupcake from Cyrus. 

"Where is Olberic?" Cyrus asked as Erhardt unwrapped the confection. 

"We figured it would be best not to _taunt_ Leon and Tressa, so we decided to stagger our appearances," Erhardt said and took a bite of the cupcake. "He'll be here in about half an hour. I have a multi-day client starting tonight anyway, and it’s better to _not_ see Olberic before one. He is very good at managing his jealousy when it comes to an hourly client, but he hasn't quite managed to corral his emotions entirely for extended ones."

Cyrus chuckled. "It is not surprising to learn that he can be jealous. Once he has decided he is fully invested in something, he tends to get possessive."

"I hear past arguments in that statement."

"He is a fast learner and adaptable," Cyrus said. "But, it's getting over his initial stubbornness that can be a challenge."

Erhardt laughed. "True."

Cyrus and Erhardt watched the conversation from afar, and Erhardt found himself smiling.

_For the first time in nearly a decade, he looks happy,_ Erhardt thought. _it's so nice to see that._  

“You truly care for your brother, don’t you?”

Erhardt looked to Cyrus.  “Yes, of course.”

“Not all family loves each other,” Cyrus pointed out.

“I am aware,” Erhardt replied.  “Olberic said his family hates him and one of his half-brothers told him he should die.”

“Did they now.”

Erhardt was amused by the subdued anger in Cyrus’ voice and how the man’s long fingers tapped an irritated staccato against the cupcacke he was holding.

“I’m trying to pry some of Olberic’s childhood out of him, but it’s hard because he doesn’t want to talk about his and I don’t want to talk about mine,” Erhardt said.  “I guess we’ll both have to get a little drunk and that’ll be enough to push past the initial resistance. Assuming that doesn’t lead to sex. I’ll have to be very disciplined.”

Cyrus shook his head slowly.  “Well, I wish you the best of luck.  He has mentioned very little of his time before our meeting in Atlasdam.  I know all of the _official_ history, if you would like me to provide you with that information.”

“Official?”

“Things I gleaned from newspapers and archives.  He is a fascinating man, given what little he told me--thus, research.”

“Huh.  Don’t know why I didn’t think of that.  Could you send me what you have, Professor?  It’ll be light reading on the plane ride.”

“I’d be happy to,” Cyrus responded.  “Although I’m not sure you’ll be particularly pleased after reading some of it.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if I want to go to Hornburg and demand that his family explain themselves after finishing my read-through,” Erhardt drawled and finished his cupcake.  “At least Olberic recognizes that it is traumatic and _wrong_ for them to have done that to him.  He doesn’t emotionally get it, but at least he can say it’s wrong.”

Cyrus nodded slowly.  “He is a very strong man, if too stoic for his own good.”

“Truer words were never spoken,” Erhardt replied.  

He silently watched his brother and Tressa interact for a few moments longer, his shoulders slowly dropping at how their posture had shifted from cautious and disbelieving to relaxed with a hint of desire.

“Well, I think I’ll be making my exit a little earlier than I need to.  I’ll end up teasing him if I don’t, and i don’t want to ruin his happiness.”

“I doubt you’ll ruin it--at most, you will simply make him irritated with you,” Cyrus said, a smile playing on his lips.

“Yes, well, I feel like being a good older brother for once.”

Erhardt waited until Tressa and Leon joined the main party, then took his brother aside and said, “Sorry, but I have to leave a little early.  You can get back home on your own, right?”

Leon smirked, which made Erhardt grin.

“Have fun,” Erhardt said before stopping by Tressa.

“I hope you have a _very_ happy birthday,” he said with a wink.

Tressa gave him a bright smile.  “Thank you!”

“Can I give you a hug?”

Tressa blinked, then hugged him in response.  Erhardt returned the embrace with a brief, tight squeeze before letting her go.  

“Give my brother hell for me, will you?” he asked after pressing a quick kiss to her temple.  “I don’t get to see him nearly as often as I’d like.”

Tressa’s smile was pure mischief.  “Will do.”

“See you around,” Erhardt said and meandered away.

_For the first time in...forever, we’re both happy,_ Erhardt thought, his heart feeling light.  _For the first time since Mom and Dad died, we’re_ both _happy.  If the gods are merciful, it will stay that way long enough for us to enjoy it._


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story does have _some_ plot to it...
> 
> As always, nothing belongs to me.

Erhardt was sitting in what he had decided was "his" seat in the Coffee Monster, sipping a Therion-creation, and scrolling through his junk emails when a man walked into the cafe that sent off all sorts of warning bells, if only because of how he _looked_ around. It was a calculating critique, a cataloging of who and what was in the room, and then a dismissal. 

He wore black, distressed denim jeans, with brown work boots. A tacky, short-sleeved, camo-patterned button down was unbuttoned enough to show a white wife-beater beneath it.  He had a short, gold-chain necklace, and a black sports watch on his left wrist. His hair was bright orange and slicked back so it seemed almost grafted onto his head. His eyes were a bright, sharp green, and he had a rather distinctive scar across his nose.  Erhardt found him unbearably uncouth, but the man’s appearance niggled at a memory; it was only when Therion's face lost all color that Erhardt put a name to the face.

_Darius._

Erhardt saw Primrose's hand fall to her side, near where she held her stun-gun, and she shifted in her seat so she would be able to move quickly if necessary. It was past the morning rush, so there wouldn’t be a lot of potential obstacles or hostages, for which Erhardt was grateful. He’d be able to corral people enough to keep them out of Primrose's way should things head south.  She wouldn’t let either Cordelia or Tressa get hurt.

Erhardt decided then that he would tell Olberic everything. About Mattias and his plans. About Darius and the trade. About his own plans. Olberic _needed_ to know. Hells, he had graduated from the War Academy--there was no softness in him when it came to conflict. 

Ophilia, who was also on shift, noticed Therion’s reaction, too, so handed him off to Lianna and took the register.  

Erhardt and Primrose’s eyes met across the cafe before her full attention went to Darius.  

Erhardt took a sip of his coffee and texted Olberic:

-we need you in the cafe

The almost immediate response was:

-i’ll be there as soon as possible

Erhardt doubted that Darius had noticed or cared what the pretty man--maybe woman, since Erhardt was wearing his favorite sundress--in the corner was doing.  He wasn’t here for Erhardt--he was clearly here for Therion.

“Welcome to the Coffee Monster, how may I help you?” Ophilia asked in her most cheerful, professional voice.

Erhardt trusted Ophilia to be able to handle herself--she had stood up to an entire room full of politicians--and searched out Therion instead.  He was gone, but H’aanit had appeared and was standing very protectively in front of the employee exit/entrance into the cafe and Lianna was gone.  Linde had the stillness of a hunting cat; Erhardt was reminded that H’aanit had casually mentioned one day that she wasn’t sure that Linde was _just_ a housecat, but could have some kind of big cat blood in her veins.

Ophilia was doing an admirable job of fake-flirting with Darius as she rung up his order, then looked around behind her and said, “Oh, I’m so sorry.  I’ll prepare your order, but you may have to wait a little.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Darius replied, and his smile was a bit more toothy than necessary.  “I don’t mind waiting.”

Ophilia, to her credit, was unphased.  “Glad to hear it. Could you remind me of your name?”

“Darius,” he responded.

Erhardt was impressed.  The man had balls, or was trying to use the name to get under Therion’s skin, if he was still within ear-shot.

Unfortunately, _because_ Ophilia was the only one behind the counter, Darius used his time to wait to turn his attention to Cordelia.  

“You’re Miss Ravus, aren’t you?” Darius asked, a slightly cocky smile on his face.

Cordelia did an admirable job of ignoring Darius, instead focusing _intensely_ on her conversation with Tressa.

Darius frowned sharply.  

Primrose gave him a pleasant, dangerous smile that promised Bad Things if he tried something untoward.

“ _E_ _xcuse_ me,” Darius said a little more forcefully.  “You’re Miss Cordelia Ravus, aren’t you?”

Erhardt saw her breeding kick in, and Cordelia turned to face Darius.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said and gave Darius a polite smile.  “Is there something I can help you with?”

There was something to be said about having a large, imposing lover.  Even the most socially and/or politically powerful people tended to balk in the presence of someone who was a literal competent, physical threat to their well-being, which Olberic very much was.  It seemed that Olberic’s instincts hadn’t atrophied any since his days of active duty, since he immediately focused on Darius. It wasn’t hard to see that his vile attempts at small-talk was making Cordelia distinctly uncomfortable and Primrose was the strange dancer combination of completely relaxed yet on high-alert.  It didn’t seem like Darius had any kind of back up nearby--then again, he probably expected nothing more difficult than intimidation and emotional blackmail.  

Olberic walked up to Darius and said in a calm, pleasant, yet firm voice, “Excuse me, sir, but I would appreciate it if you remove yourself from my cafe.”

Darius looked over to Olberic, a sneer on his face even though Erhardt saw the tension that abruptly appeared in his arms and legs.

_I’d like to see you try,_ Erhardt thought, glancing towards Cordelia.  She looked a little shaken, but also relieved that _Olberic_ was there.

“Why? I’m not _doing_ anything,” Darius said, his voice light and dismissive.

“You are making the other patrons uncomfortable,” Olberic replied, the tone of his voice unchanged.  “As I try to nurture a non-hostile and comfortable environment, I must ask that you leave.”

“Even without my coffee?”

“I will bring it to you if you wait outside.  Otherwise, feel free to call your credit card company, and we shall happily reimburse you.”

“You really want to make an enemy out of a paying customer?” Darius threatened, although it was clear that the last part of the phrase was merely a poor attempt at a smokescreen.

“Send the health inspector,” Olberic said.  “Try to drag us on social media or word of mouth and deprive us of customers.  Feel free to have us investigated, sue us if you choose to. Our cafe will survive.”

‘But you won’t,’ was the unspoken threat.

_Gods, he’s sexy,_ Erhardt thought, barely keeping his erection under control.

There was a long silence which was only broken by Ophilia chirping, “Here’s your order, Darius.”

She placed his coffee on the counter, gave him a brilliant smile, and left.  Erhardt wondered idly if Ophilia had found a way to poison the drink. She was as protective of the other staff as any of them were.    

Darius picked up the coffee, scoffed at Olberic and left at a leisurely pace, although being under the close scrutiny of H’aanit, Primrose, and Olberic could not have been comfortable.  

Erhardt happily pretended to be listening to music as he scrolled through his garbage email account, and caught the small, triumphant smirk on Darius’ face as he left the cafe.  

_Well, he_ did _accomplish what he came here for,_ Erhardt thought.  _Terrorized both Coredlia and Therion, and found out that Cordelia has at least three protectors.  Whether or not he thinks they extend to Therion is a different story. He can doubtlessly tell that H’aanit, Ophilia, and Lianna are on Therion’s side.  Primrose and Olberic he might assume are purely interested in Cordelia, although the way that Olberic referred to the cafe may imply to Darius that Olberic is invested in Therion and not Cordelia, or, even, the both of them.  Either way, now that_ I _know what he looks like--and I’m sure that Z’aanta and Odette poked their heads in as well--he’s not safe in the underground of Noblecourt.  Ophilia will make him unwelcome in Flamesgrace, who will communicate with Saintsbridge. Z’aanta and H’aanit both have contacts in S’waarki and within the police force--perhaps even international, because our luck is very strange.  Of course, Darius probably has counter-contacts if he has operated for as long as Therion makes it seem._

Erhardt caught Olberic’s eye and gave him a cheerful wave.  _Although, the question is...what now?_

“Thank you for contacting me,” Olberic said after walking over to Erhardt’s table.  “I’m not sure any of us did the right thing, however.”

Erhardt reached out, took one of Olberic’s hands, and pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of his wrist.  “We did what we thought was right.”

_“_ I doubt Therion will see it that way,” Olberic murmured.  

“We’ll see,” Erhardt said and stood.  “I should speak to Cordelia.”

“I’ll see if I can talk Therion down.  Ophilia might be able to help me--they seem to consider each other to be almost siblings.”

Before Erhardt could move, Olberic took one of Erhardt’s hands and pressed a kiss to the back of it.  “You take care of yourself. I don’t…” he shook his head. “Just be careful for me, okay?”

Erhardt smiled softly.  “Of course.”

The two parted, Olberic heading towards the bookstore as Erhardt walked over to where Cordelia, Tressa, and Primrose sat.

“Mind if I join you?” Erhardt asked and pulled up a seat next to Cordelia.

“Not at all,” Cordelia said and gave Erhardt a shaky smile.  Once he had perched himself in the chair next to her, she reached out and took one of his hands in hers.  It was a reflexive gesture of comfort--Erhardt had been there for her on her darker, bleaker nights, so even if he wasn’t physically capable of protecting her, she knew he would be there emotionally.  He gave her hand a light squeeze and an encouraging smile.

“Did you _see_ that hair style?  Who uses that much product anymore to slick it back?  He probably goes through an entire bottle each day. It looked waxy enough that I’m sure he could wring it out to make at the very _least_ one candle,” Erhardt drawled.  “And that color? Definitely box dye.  How tasteless.”

His incongruous comment made Cordelia burst out in laughter, even if the sound was a little tight and forced.  Primrose snorted derisively and Tressa snickered.

“And what does he do, get dressed in the dark?  I would be good money that his socks didn’t match, and you know that the shirt was pulled out the dirty pile and Febreezed to freshen it up.  I swear, I nearly gagged from the ‘cologne’ he drowned himself in when he walked in. Gods. You’d think he would put _some_ effort in.”

Tressa was giggling as Cordelia leaned heavily on Erhardt, her face in his shoulder.

“Says the man who walked in wearing a midi-length sundress and gladiator sandals,” Primrose drawled.

“It’s too hot for pants,” Erhardt said dismissively.  “And I wanted to wear this necklace. It goes with so very few things and this dress is one of them.”

“Really?  That’s why you wore that dress?  Just for the necklace?” Cordelia asked.

“Of course.”

“Gods, you’re impossible.”

“Impossibly attractive, you mean.”

Erhardt caught Primrose rolling her eyes as Tressa struggled to not smile.

“You’re looking quite attractive today yourself, Miss Ravus.  Has Primrose been teaching you a few makeup tricks? I’m wounded that you didn’t ask me.”

“You’re a difficult man to pin down,” Cordelia said as Erhardt wiped some tears away using a clean paper napkin from the table.  

“Olberic would disagree,” Erhardt said with a wink before he pulled Cordelia’s purse over to see if she carried any of her makeup with her.

Cordelia’s face flushed pink as Tressa smirked and Primrose looked both amused and irritated.  

“How are you doing these days, Tressa?  I hope you are, ah, killing my brother a little more each day,” Erhardt asked as he retrieved what Cordelia _did_ carry with her.

Tressa coughed to cover her smirk and failed spectacularly.  “I try.”

Cordelia looked confused as Erhardt reapplied what makeup had smeared.  

“I’ve actually started helping him with his shipping business,” Tressa continued.  “I was kinda learning from him when we were in Rippletide, and I finally bothered him enough that he decided that it was more worthwhile to teach me than, uh, suffer the consequences of my displeasure.”

“I would imagine,” Erhardt drawled and put Cordelia’s makeup away.  “There.”

Cordelia gave Erhardt a weak, if genuine, smile.  “Thanks.”

“My pleasure, truly,” Erhardt said with a smile.  “I believe I’m seeing you in about a month for that art gala, correct?”

“I think that’s the next time I’m employing you, yes.”

“Well, I want you to know that I am always available to _you_ , Miss Ravus.  You have my phone number, so, please, text me if the mood strikes you.  I reply pretty quickly, as my brother and Olberic will attest to. I’ve even managed to text while having sex, if the person is a bad enough and distracted enough while fucking me.”

Cordelia’s face turned _bright_ red, Tressa’s slightly less so as she snickered, and Primrose looked distinctly unimpressed.

“I wonder if that says more about their skill or yours,” Primrose drawled.  “Let alone your standards.”

“You’d be surprised how many people have paid me to pop their cherries,” Erhardt replied.  “And if they pay my asking price for that service, well, who I am to turn them down?”

Cordelia made a strangled, horrified sound as Tressa hiccuped on a laugh.  

“Probably one of your cheapest services.”

“No, my cheapest is one orgasm via cunnilingus,” Erhardt said cheerfully.  “So a woman knows what it’s _supposed_ to feel like.”

Tressa couldn’t hold back laughing after that and it looked like Cordelia was going to pass out from embarrassment.  

“Probably cheap because you’re so bad at it.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Lady Primrose.  I’ve had quite a number of repeat clients who say I’ve ruined them for anyone else.”

“Can we _not_ talk about this?” Cordelia asked in a small, choked voice. 

“Of course,” Erhardt replied.  “I’m not quite sure how we got on the topic in the first place.”

Primrose shot him a small, approving smirk as Tressa caught Cordelia’s attention.  Cordelia wouldn’t be distracted forever, but at least her mind was temporarily off of the most recent events.

“Sadly, I must leave you,” Erhardt said and stood.  “I am actually starting to try to get back into cooking my own food, so need to, for the first time in I think about…10 years?...need to go grocery shopping.”

“Don’t burn down your apartment,” Primrose drawled as Erhardt passed her.

“I bought a fire extinguisher for that reason,” Erhardt quipped before he reached out to Cordelia, took her hand, and pressed his lips to the back of it.  “I hope to hear from you, Miss Ravus.”

Cordelia gave him an affectionate and exasperated smile.  “You can feel free to text me as well, Erhardt.”

“Of course,” Erhardt responded before pointedly messing up Primrose’s hair and deftly evading her retaliatory swipe of deliberately sharp nails.  

The day was far too hot for Erhardt’s liking, but he spent the majority of his life indoors, so a walk never hurt.  The grocery store wasn’t terribly far away, anyway.

He also felt rather fetching that day so didn’t mind showing off.  He wore a cap-sleeved, v-neck, white sundress with a red, floral pattern paired with gold gladiator sandals.  He had painted both his finger and toenails red, and had his usual ruby drop earrings, although had added a layer necklace with delicate roses in rubies and diamonds.  Strings of pearls formed a small net on his hair, attached to two smaller clips near his ears and a larger clasp holding back a half-ponytail.  

As he walked into the grocery store, he took a reflexive deep breath of the air conditioning and sighed, picking up a basket.  _I really haven’t been out purchasing my own food in at_ least _a decade,_ Erhardt thought as he meandered into the produce section, giving an occasional client a flirtatious smile before turning his attention to the vegetables.  

Erhardt did not expect to be confronted by Therion in the produce section of the grocery store, but weirder things had happened in his life.

“I thought you said the Institute takes care of its own,” Therion hissed without preamble.

Erhardt could almost picture him as a cat, considering how his eyes were narrowed dangerously and his hair seemed to poof with emotion. A terrified, angry cat.

“We do,” Erhardt responded evenly.  “Primrose was with her, and was armed.  There is little more that we can do besides put her under house arrest."

"He found her! Knew she is important to me!"

"Miss Ravus is a highly public figure," Erhardt responded. "So I doubt that _finding_ her was hard. Knowing she is important to you _is_ worrisome, but nothing that can’t be addressed."

Therion shook his head vigorously. "No. It can’t! You don’t understand.  He came _there_.  To see _me_ when she was there, too.  It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t!"  Therion ran his fingers through his hair, and Erhardt was treated to a glimpse of the rather nasty burn-scar that covered the left side of his face from his hairline to a little past his eye.

_It’s a miracle he didn’t lose it,_ Erhardt thought idly.  “Therion--”

Therion shook his head sharply.  “You _failed_.  You and, and, you all failed and now…”  He glared at Erhardt. “You. Failed.”

“And what do you plan to do now, Therion?” Erhardt asked, unruffled.  

“Why do you care?”

“Because Miss Ravus is a very good client of mine, and I want to know what kind of damage control I’m going to be doing as a result of you deciding that you know what is better for her than she does.”

"Because I do know better! Better than any of you, what he is capable of."

"Well, then, I suppose that leaves you with two choices. You can play the martyr. Push everyone away to save them from you while keeping yourself free of any blame or pain because you tried to warn us and keep us safe. Doing that also allows you to wallow in guilt because if only we had listened to you, we would be okay. Or, you can trust us and work with us, using our combined abilities and skills to bring our enemies down. Your information was helpful, but we could always use more insight. You saw that we have Miss Ravus under guard, and we have pinned and removed quite a few pimps and associates of Darius thanks to your information. Imagine how much more thorough and swiftly we could deal with threats that originate from him with you on our side."

Therion shook his head. "Why should I believe _you_? You betrayed and hurt someone you purportedly cared for."

"And yet Miss Ravus trusts me and Olberic has decided to give me a second chance. If that won't convince you, Cyrus trusts me and he an impeccable judge character even if he is a bit emotionally dense," Erhardt pointed out.

Therion hesitated, and Erhardt watched a dozen different emotions pass across his face before stubborn sadness settled there. "Whatever. I knew it was wrong to think anyone could actually do anything to help."

Erhardt watched Therion walk away and sighed softly once the young man was out of earshot. He pulled out his phone and dialed Kit. 

"Sir Erhardt, it's been a while!"

"It really has, hasn’t it?" Erhardt responded. "We really do need to meet for lunch sometime soon."

"Very true. However, I doubt this is a social call."

"Unfortunately, you are right. Your brother is about to make a very poor life decision and I want to make sure you have a more unbiased story before he gets to packing up his belongings and running away."

"Oh?"

Erhardt gave Kit the short version of what happened at the coffee shop, the conversation, and their background.

Kit was silent for a moment before he said, "Okay. I'll talk to him."

"Thanks. I want to be able to tell Miss Ravus that I tried."

"Of course," Kit responded, amusement thick in his voice.  “It’s most certainly not because--”

Erhardt hung up before Kit could give him any sass about being a good person.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the chapters I like best, which clearly means I need to write more of Odette and Erhardt hanging out together.
> 
> As always and forever, nothing belongs to me.

Erhardt leaned against the counter in the bookshop, Odette idly braiding his hair, threading it through with red and gold ribbon from the gift wrapping station as Erhardt read through a trashy magazine he had walked away with from the doctor’s office.  

“Do these people even _consult_ escorts before suggesting sex positions?” Erhardt asked and gestured to an article on ‘Top 10 Sex Positions to Try This Summer.’  “Most of this is _garbage_.”

“Maybe they do and the escorts tell them those garbage positions to drum up business out of people wondering what they’re doing wrong?” Odette responded.  “I hate how well-behaved your hair is.”

“That’s such bad business tactics, though.  Why be so roundabout and spread misinformation?  They should be ashamed of themselves.” Erhardt smirked faintly.  “It’s only well-behaved because I fight it into submission every morning.  You should see what my hair looks like if I forget to blow-dry it the night before.  Giant rat nest. Leon? He can go to bed without doing anything and wake up looking perfect.  It’s not fair.”

“I bet that you even on a bad day looks better than most people when they make an effort,” Odette drawled.  “How the hell do you make a tank top and just-barely-not booty shorts look like you stepped out of a high-end sports fashion magazine?”

“It’s taken years to perfect this beauty.”

Odette snorted.  “Thanks for coming by. It’s been a while since we were together.”

"You still enjoying retirement?"

"Its getting a little predictable, and I can't decide if I like that or not," Odette replied. "At least working for the Institute as well keeps me occupied."

"What are you teaching?"

"Sexual health and self-care. Ways to prevent burn-out, basically, and what to do if they suspect that a client gave them an STI. Although i occasionally teach the, ah, anatomy of pleasure."

Erhardt snickered and turned a page in the magazine. "Okay, the writer of this article is just making shit up. I should write an op-ed or something calling out all this as bullshit. We should offer public classes in what sex positions tend to work and feel good and, like, hand out the cards of the younger escorts afterwards."

"That's not one of your worse ideas. Bring it up to the board."

"When hell freezes over am I talking to them."

"Why are you so allergic to addressing them?"

"Because they do stupid things like try to get me to serve on the board whenever I do."

Odette snickered.  “Maybe some responsibility would do you good.”

“I am plenty responsible enough.”

"So, what sex position do you think you'd like to explain to the public at large?”

“Depends on what orientation I’m teaching,’” Erhardt replied as he flipped the page in the magazine.  “Although I think the general idea would be ‘toys are your friends, words are good, don’t underestimate your hands as tools of pleasure.’  How about you?”

“Straight men seem to _always_ need instruction on cunnilingus,” Odette replied dryly.  “You’d think they’d have caught the hint by now that they should know how to dive for pearls correctly.  I swear, bad head really is the only corrective tactic I’ve found that _works_.”

“Which is kind of sad, really,” Erhardt replied.  “That’s why my prices for cunnilingus are lower than most, if a woman chooses to book me for my carnal capabilities.  Best that they know how it’s supposed to feel so they can tell when a man isn’t trying or is doing a piss-poor job.  How often have you told Z’aanta’s doing it wrong?”

“Twice, and I took swift _corrective action_ when he displeased me.  Luckily for him, he’s a fast learner.”

Erhardt snorted.  “Good to hear. I’d hate to have to offer him lessons in how to please you correctly.”

Odette laughed.  “I don’t think I’d mind those lessons.  I always enjoyed having two men pay attention to me.”

“Oh, yes.  I can see it right now.  You, on your back, hair spread out around your head in a halo, my hands on your tits and his--”

Odette swatted at Erhardt.  “Knock it off. You have too much of an imagination, and if I let you get going, I might have to actually float the idea with Z’aanta.” 

Erhardt snickered.  “You manage to get Z’aanta into pegging yet?” Erhardt said as he flipped to the next page in the magazine.

“Working on it.  Trying to explain it as ‘prostate stimulation is good for a man’s health.’”

“Anal sex is a surprisingly hard sell to a lot of people,” Erhardt said.  “It’s always so _nice_ seeing Olberic all spread out beneath me, though.”

“And _that’s_ unfair.  I can ride Z’aanta into the sunset, but I don’t get to see his orgasm face as much as I want to.”

“Tragic, to be sure,” Erhardt said.  “Maybe start him off with anal beads?  Get him used to the idea and feeling?”

“I tried that,” Odette sighed.  “No dice.”

“Maybe ask him if you can poke a finger in his back door while you’re giving him head or jerking him off?  Distractions are good.”

“I’ve been considering that, but I’m afraid that if I do he’ll freeze and stop enjoying himself.”

“After he comes just kind of massage down there?  Don’t penetrate or anything, just touch?”

“...just how often do you have to convince straight men to let you have anal sex with them?”

“I’ve never had to _convince_ them, they’re always interested if they book me for that, but curiosity does not always equal readiness.  And usually results in multiple bookings”

Odette snorted. “How many does it usually take?”

“Depends on the length I’m booked for.  Sometimes I take them before our time is up, sometimes I have to provide them with...homework...before they’re ready.”

“Homework?” Odette repeated, quirking an eyebrow.  

“Convince them to try fingering themselves,” Erhardt said as he flipped a page.  “Usually it gets them used to at _least_ the idea, and sometimes they come back to me prepared in more than one way.”

Odette snickered.  

“You’d be surprised by how many thank-you cards I get,” Erhardt said and gave Odette a wink.  

“How often do you have female clients who use you for sex?”

“Not as often as I’d like,” Erhardt responded.  “My rates are lower for women than men and they still don’t take advantage of me like I want them to.”

Erhardt paused.  “Do you think our men will let us continue to have our play dates?”

When they had both been single and Odette was still working as an escort, they had occasionally set aside an afternoon to watch and mock bad porn together, have funny sex, cuddle, and swap crude client stories.  It had felt good to be together if only because there was no pressure, Erhardt was frustrated by how few women took advantage of him, and Odette needed to be reminded of what good sex felt like.  

Odette hummed thoughtfully.  “I don’t think so. They’re both fairly possessive.”

“Maybe we can invite them so they’ll see it’s all in good fun?”

“Don’t think that’d work either.”

“But our orgasm count is tied,” Erhardt said as he turned the page in the magazine.  “I feel like that’s both fair and unfair. I want to make you come just _one_ more time so I can be the winner, but, at the same time, it’s probably better to end that kind of competition on a tie.”

“Well, we can keep a new orgasm count,” Odette said as she tied off Erhardt’s braid.  “There you go, magpie.”

Erhardt snickered.  “Oh? What will our count be this time?”

“How many times we make our men come.”

“Ha!  I’ll win that one easily.  Olberic’s stamina is _incredible._ ”

“Maybe, but how fast does he recharge?  Z’aanta’s ready to go again _very_ quickly.  And you have to remember that _we’re_ part of the equation, too.”

“Are you doubting my ability to be ready to fuck at a moment’s notice?”

“Just saying that you have more _equipment_ limitations than I do,” Odette said, leaning on the counter so Erhardt could see her.

Erhardt scoffed.  “Just because my hydraulics aren’t working doesn’t mean I don’t have other options.”

Odette snickered. 

“We’d also have to, like, set up a time frame.  Because it won’t be a true competition unless we have a time limit, rules, etc.,” Erhardt said.  “It was easy when we were fucking each other to keep tally.”

Odette paused, then burst out laughing.  “Oh, _gods_.  Can you imagine the conversation we’d have to have?”

Erhardt blinked, then snickered.  “Hey, Olberic, I have a bet with Odette that I can make you come more times than she can make Z’aanta come.  We’ve agreed that it’ll be over the course of--what, a half-hour?”

“Sounds good to me,” she replied with a salacious grin that Erhardt returned with a smirk.  

“And then we will compare tallies after that time is up and whomever made their man come the most is the winner,” Erhardt finished.  “No prize except bragging rights until next time and satisfaction for a job well done.”

The two were silent for a little bit before Odette laughed again.  “I think we should try.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.  What do we have to lose?  And I’m sure one or both of them will think that ‘practice makes perfect’ and try to improve their stamina or technique or something.  We might even get them to make a counter-bet and wouldn’t _that_ be lovely.”

Erhardt shivered.  “Oh, gods, it will be _wonderful_ if they do.  They’re both fairly competitive men, too…”

Odette sighed.  “We should go toy shopping some day, though, since _our_ play dates are on indefinite hiatus.”

“There’s this great new store--Purple Passion--that I found.  They have _classes_.  I’ve never really had a client ask me to tie them down and fuck them, but I figure learning some rope tricks couldn’t hurt.”

“You’d go to classes with _me_ and not Olberic?”

“Olberic would die of embarrassment no matter how much I tried to ply him.”

“You’re right, I can’t see ever being able to drag Z’aanta to something like that.”

“And you get a discount if you go shopping after attending a class!”

“Have you browsed?”

“Only a little.  I saw an ad in the Institute newsletter so looked up their website.  You want to go with me on Wednesday? They have a introductory rope bondage class then.”

“Sure,” Odette said with a shrug.  “I’ll ask if I can leave a little early.”

“Only if you agree to teach me what you learned when you’re done with the class,” Cyrus called from the second floor, leaning over the railing slightly.  "We should probably introduce some BDSM techniques into the Institute curriculum for the sake of comprehensiveness."

“Of course, Professor,” Odette responded with a smile.  

“Also, do you think I should start stocking our shelves with some of the Institute literature I read through before adding them to the curriculum?” Cyrus asked, smiling.  “Your pseudo-discussion on anal sex earned you quite a few blushes and intrigued glances from patrons.”

Erhardt had been too upset with the magazine to notice, but from how Odette snickered, _she_ had observed the same thing as Cyrus.       

“Anything to counter this garbage,” Erhardt said and shook the magazine up at Cyrus.  “I mean, _seriously_ , this is why people have such bad sex! Because they listen to awful advice from people who clearly are making things up!”

“It never hurts to educate the public,” Cyrus agreed.  “And I like your idea of offering Institute classes in how to not have, ah, shitty sex.  Even if you won’t bring it up before the Board, I shall.”

“Anything to run these stupid ‘sex-sperts’ out of business,” Erhardt grumbled as Cyrus wandered away.  “I swear to the gods…”

Odette patted his forearm condescendingly.  “Where’d you get the magazine anyway?”

“Bored while waiting for my yearly physical,” Erhardt said and opened the magazine back to where he had been reading.  “First it was just to look at the ads for cologne, fashion, and so on. But _that_ annoyed me because what moron is the one responsible for designing menswear?!  It’s all single, dark colors and only three different kinds of fit.  Men repress so much because they have no outlet for their beauty and creativity in fashion!  Men who are not escorts deserve patterns and color, too! I am sick of buying from the women’s section and then having everything re-tailored to fit me!  It’s not fair to me or any other man who wants to look like he’s doing something other than attending a funeral when dressing up!”

“You’re just a prissy little peacock,” Odette said, although shifted so she could look at the magazine.  “Maybe you should start your own fashion line.”

“That’s far too much effort,” Erhardt responded and tossed the magazine into a nearby trashcan.  “Maybe eventually, though.”

“Once you settle down with your man?”

“Trust me, there is no _settling_ with Olberic,” Erhardt said and gave Odette a leering grin.  “He’s a bit of an exhibitionist when you get down to it. He constantly low-key sexually harasses me in public and it’s both wonderful and awful.  Have to constantly be on the watch for where his hands are.”

Odette snickered.  “I doubt you’re much better.”

“Oh, I’m not physically subtle, and I have no idea how _he_ is, so I just _tell_ him all the bad things I’m going to do in as nonchalant a voice as possible.  It usually takes it a moment to register and I love the emotions that cross his face,” Erhardt responded.

“We haven’t really gone out a lot together yet, Z’aanta and I,” Odette replied.  “We’re more a friends-with-benefits thing. You know what I like about sleeping with him the most?”

“His size?”

Odette snorted.  “In more than one way.  While I’m a, ah, _large_ fan of his one-eyed monster, him just being physically larger and stronger is nice sometimes.  I had to put my body on the line so often, it’s nice to feel…” Odette gestured vaguely. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Safe,” Erhardt said.  “The feeling is _safe_.”

They were silent for a long moment before Odette nodded slowly.  “That may be it. He’s just physically imposing. I never really had _rugged_ clients, if you catch my drift.  I suppose I was just too sharp and too old.”

Erhardt reached over and gently patted Odette’s cheek.  “You were--and are--intimidating, my dear. You’re too smart for a lot of people and you’ve never bothered to tone that down.  Z’aanta is merely the first man to be able to _handle_ you and your fire without fear of getting burned.”

“Poetic sap,” Odette accused, although there was a softness in her eyes and tone.

“I have my moments.”  After a pause, Erhardt said: “Scars?”

“Oh my _gods,_ I forgot about you and that!” Odette laughed.  “A few, yes. And a rather interesting tattoo that he won’t explain.  I desperately want to know the story, though, given how _flustered_ he becomes whenever I ask.”

“It’s hard to imagine Z’aanta flustered.”

“I fluster him quite a bit,” Odette said with a lewd smile.  “It’s quite lovely. He blushes nicely”

“Oh, really?” 

“Mm-hm,” Odette hummed.  

“No tattoos on Olberic,” Erhardt said.  “But lots of rather _interesting_ scars.  I’ve gotten him to tell me the stories behind a few, but not all of them.  I’m working at it, though. He lets things slip he normally wouldn’t during pillow talk.”

“How opportunistic of you.”

“Hey, I’m only doing what I need to.  It’s a little hard to get things out of the strong, silent type and I would feel even worse if I took advantage of him when he’s drunk.”

“Oh?”

“He’s the most happy, giggly drunk I’ve ever come across.”

“Bullshit!”

“No shit,” Erhard said with a grin.  “It’s gods-damned _adorable_.  He’s more overtly handsy and flirty when drunk, too, which I don’t _mind_ , but he also doesn’t remember the night terribly well the next morning, so you can see how I’d feel even worse about getting information out of him then.”

Odette laughed.  “Oh, _gods_.  Seriously?  Olberic Eisenberg, a giggly drunk?”

“Absolutely.”

“So...what’s he like?  When he wears older jeans that have clearly accidentally been through the wrong heat cycle for drying, it seems like he’s particularly...well-endowed.”

Erhardt sighed happily.  “Gods, yes. He spoiled me for everyone else.” Even the _thought_ of Olberic inside him made him shiver.  “But, you know what? That actually isn’t the best part, although it is amazing on its own.”

“Oh?”

“I will swear to the far reaches of hell and back that he is _the_ best kisser in all of Osterra, if not the world.”

“High praise from a man who has kissed quite a few people.”

“No, really.  He  _definitely_ is.”

“Prove it.”

“Hm?”

Odette gestured to the space behind the counter.  “Prove it. You’ve probably picked up a _few_ things, and if it can make the great Sir Erhardt go all starry-eyed it must be something special.”

Erhardt took a look around the store--no one, at least temporarily.

“It won’t be long,” he said as he jumped the counter, which made Odette laugh.

“Show off,” she said before Erhardt drew her close and kissed her.  He remembered what Olberic _did_ to him fairly clearly, and it wasn’t terribly long before Odette was resting more of her weight on him that her own feet.  

They broke apart and Erhardt steadied Odette, who almost _giggled_.  

“You _are_ a lucky man,” she said one she pulled away entirely and leaned on the counter.  “ _Damn_ , if that’s only what you remember him doing…” Her smile was slightly mischievous.  “Think we could convince Olberic to give Z’aanta lessons?”

“I don’t think so.”

“...I don’t either, really.”

Erhardt paused and shivered.

“It would be hot, though,” he said.

“It would be very hot,” Odette agreed.

Erhardt moved back to the other side of the counter and straightened his shirt.  “Think you and Z’aanta will ever be an actual _thing_?”

Odette shrugged. “I honestly don’t know.  He’s a lovely man. Strong, funny, doesn’t ask anything of me that I’m not willing to give.  I think he’s actually falling for me, though, even though we’ve both tried to keep it just on the surface.”  She paused, then sighed. “I like it, but I don’t? With clients, it was an inconvenience. I never wanted to be anything besides friends or fuck-buddies with any other consorts or Institute graduates.  Those were my two circles.”

“You _can_ just date Z’aanta, you know.  It doesn’t have to be forever,” Erhardt pointed out.  

“I think life has made me allergic to commitment,” Odette said as she drew random shapes on the wood counter with her finger.  “What do you even _do_ when dating someone?  You’re dating Olberic, right?”

“Yeah,” Erhardt confirmed.  “Well, I’m pretty sure I am.  We’ve gone on quite a few dates and had some amazing sex and I’m emotionally _invested_ in him.  You know what?  I think that’s the difference.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I’m emotionally invested in him,” Erhardt said.  “Like, if it’s just sex, I don’t care about what the other person is feeling emotionally.  It’s just about what physically feels good. But now...this is going to sound incredibly cheesy and you’re going to laugh at me.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Anymore, Olberic and I usually don’t _fuck_.  We _make love_ to each other.  Although the times I do get him to fuck me are _lovely._ ”

Instead of laughing, like Erhardt had thought she would, Odette looked thoughtful.  “An interesting distinction. And you think...that that’s the difference between friends-with-benefits or bedmates and dating?”

“It’s the best I can come up with.”

“And what happens if Z’aanta ends up emotionally invested in me and I don’t reciprocate?”

“I don’t know,” Erhardt said and shrugged.  “I’m both lucky and unlucky. For me, it’s been everything or nothing.”

There was a thoughtful silence.  

_Do I_ love _Olberic?_  Erhardt thought.  _And, if it really is love, what does that actually mean?_

“Do you think he’ll agree if I ask him out on a date, just to see what it feels like?” Odette asked.

“No harm in asking.”

“Z’aanta, will you go on a date with me?” Odette called out, and a rather bemused Z’aanta stepped around the corner from the cafe into the bookstore.

“I woulde,” Z’aanta said.  

“Well, that was easy,” Erhardt said and gave Odette a smile.  

Odette snorted, although there was a smile threatening.  

“Although I knowen not what we woulde doest,” Z’aanta continued and walked to the counter, taking a place on Odette’s opposite side.  Hagen butted his head against Erhardt’s hand, who idly scratched the dog between his ears.  

“I’ll let you two figure things out,” Erhardt said and pushed away from the counter.  “I should get going anyway.”

Erhardt gave Hagen one last scratch between the ears before heading out the door of the bookshop.

He was a few steps away when his phone buzzed in his pocket.  When he opened it, it from Olberic, and contained a picture of him (Erhardt) and Odette kissing, with the caption, 

-Really, Erhardt?

Erhardt bit down a laugh and texted back:

-Just demonstrating how lucky I am 

-Oh was that what it was?

Erhardt smirked and responded as he waited at a crosswalk:

-Jealous?

“Yes.”

Erhardt couldn’t startle that much before he was gently pulled back into Olberic’s embrace.  

“Don’t do that,” Olberic growled in Erhardt’s ear, which made Erhardt shiver.  

“She just challenged me to prove it, so I had to,” Erhardt said.  “I was defending your skill, nothing more.”

“Still,” Olberic insisted.  “I’d rather that, unless it’s a job, that you kiss no one else.  Although that idea of an...orgasm competition did sound interesting.”

“Just how long were you eavesdropping, Olberic?” Erhardt asked, trying not to laugh.

“I was balancing the books in the office when Cyrus popped his head in and told me when you began discussing your _play dates_.”

“Oh, so for quite a while,” Erhardt said and nuzzled Olberic’s neck.  “How naughty of you.”

Olberic scoffed.  “Between the two of us, I was most certainly not the _naughty_ one.”

Erhardt shivered.

“Do you have a client soon?” Olberic asked.

“Not until dinner.”

“Good.  Because I’m going to make sure the thought of you doing _anything_ intimate with anyone who isn’t a client or me never crosses your mind again.”

“Oh?” Erhardt asked as Olberic let him go.  

Erhardt turned a little to look at Olberic, but Olberic grabbed his hand and took off at a _very_ brisk walk towards their apartment building before Erhardt could say anything more.  


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, not mine.

Erhardt played with his necklace pendant as he stared at the ceiling, contemplating how complicated his life was going to become.  It was a day off, and Erhardt had decided to bother Olberic by lounging in Olberic’s apartment and distracting him instead of doing anything productive himself.

_I said i was going to tell Olberic what i’m actually going to be walking into,_ he thought.  _No time better than now.  And maybe...maybe I’ll tell him about my childhood.  And perhaps get some of his out of him. I sure as hell was to_ murder _some of his family after what Cyrus sent me._

Erhardt leveraged himself to sitting on Olberic’ couch and looked over the back to where he (Olberic) was working on his computer.

"Olberic?"

"Yes?" he said and turned to face Erhardt.

Erhrdt took a deep breath. "We need to talk."

Olberic frowned. "How can I help?"

"You can’t," Erhardt said and patted the couch next to him. "But you should know anyway. I've been doing some more covert work for the Institute, but even they don’t know about it because it would require...explaining things I don’t want to explain. But that you need to know. It… isn't fair to you for you to _not_ know. I...should tell you some of my shadows and secrets. You know a little more about my life before now. Where I've traveled, who I've attended to, and a few nicer stories. But, not all stories are nice and...you need to know those stories, too.  I’ve kept the not-nice stories from you beause I don’t want you to hate me."

Olberic walked over and took a seat beside Erhardt.  “I’m listening, and...I promise that I’ll share some stories I’m not proud of, too, once you are done.”

“I’m not sure you’ll even want to look at me again…” Erhardt said and pulled gently on one of his earrings.

“I have blood on my hands, Erhardt,” Olberic said and pulled Erhardt closer.  “Both as a soldier and due to my part in the revolution.”

“Yes, but, what is worse--depriving a person of their life, or depriving them of their freedom?” Erhardt murmured.  “In death, everyone is equal, there is no pain, no despair or desire for revenge. The thought of oblivion is _terrifying_ , but...is it really worse than knowing that someone thought little enough of you to treat you as an object, a trade good to be bought and sold…?”

Olberic waited as Erhardt struggled with himself.

Erhardt eventually sighed heavily and said, “I was Werner’s least profitable whore, which is slightly ironic now given my current standing and asking prices.  Everyone had to bring in a certain amount of leaf each week or else something precious would be taken from them. I could never bring in enough money selling just my body and I _knew_ that the precious thing that would be taken from me would be Leon.  I would do anything to protect him, to keep him safe, to keep him away from Werner.  One night, when it looked like Werner would follow through on his promise, that he would actually ship and sell Leon off in Wellspring...I begged him, told him I would do _anything_ to make up for the amount of money I couldn’t make off my body.  I didn’t care what was required, as long as he didn’t touch Leon, as long as _no one_ touched Leon…”

Erhardt jumped a little when Olberic put his arm around his (Erhardt’s) shoulders, and gave Olberic a tight smile.  “You sure you want to be touching me? The story isn’t going to get any prettier.”

“I know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh, do you now?”

“If you couldn’t make money off of your own body, you’d make it off of other people’s,” Olberic said softly.

Erhardt looked sharply down to his hands, where he twisted one ring idly around his finger.  “Yeah. I...I have tried to justify it to myself over and over, but, really, there is no justification.  So, i do what I can to...to make up for it, although I never will. I think of...I think of all the people--women, children, a man here or there--whose lives I effectively _ruined_ and I wonder if there’s any forgiving myself.  Ophilia said that atonement requires forgiving myself first, else it’s just self-flagellation, but...”

“Many people do things in desperation that they would never do otherwise,” Olberic murmured.  “Werner was manipulating you--using you--to achieve his goals. Is it right, what you did? Absolutely not.  But...you’re doing what you can. I...may know a few things already. That you’re the Institute’s biggest donor.  That you help fund programs and ventures that seek to help people get out of those kinds of situations, or assist them once they’ve escaped.  You charge a fortune from the people who can afford you to give almost all of it away.”  

Erhardt nodded slowly.  “I...yes, I do in fact do all those things.  But, I...I still engage in the trade myself. As a customer and not as a purveyor, true, and I do so in an attempt to ‘save’ the most vulnerable from worse, but...whenever there is a demand, people will find a supply.  So, the question then becomes--am I hurting more people than I am helping?”

Silence fell between them for a few excruciatingly long minutes before Olberic spoke again.

“I cannot tell you that, Erhardt,” he said, his voice low and soft.  “Only you can decide. As you said, you can go out of your way to pick out the most vulnerable ones, but, at the same time, that may only provoke the...acquisition...of similar people.  This is not a decision I can make for you, Erhardt, but if you have been doing this for decades, then you must see some merit to it.”

Erhardt sighed and leaned into Olberic’s body.  “I...yes, I suppose so.”

“I have told you that I watched my family die,” Olberic said after another silence.  “That was because I led their killers straight to them.”

Erhardt looked up at Olberic, but he gaze was distant, and his eyes held echoes of old pain.

 “Because the Eisenbergs stood close to the Crown they had a great deal to lose if the embers of revolution were fanned even slightly.  The Eisenbergs did everything they could to cling to power, which only served to put them ever more at odds with technically popular opinion.  But, what did the common people know? They hadn’t been raised to lead, they didn’t have the same kind of pedigree or education to be trusted to make the correct decisions for both themselves and their country.  Look at how poorly the rest of the world was being run--the only stable and prosperous country was Hornburg.”  

Olberic paused.  “I, though...I was an Eisenberg, but in name only--not in breeding, not in temperament, not in any way that mattered to the people who cared.  If anything, my status as an outcast among the premier Hornburg house made me a sympathetic figure to those looking to overthrow the established order.  So, when I was approached to help the revolutionaries get into the manor and bring the rest of the Eisenbergs to justice, I was more than happy to help. I thought my family were all pompous assholes anyway.  I thought that they would just be arrested and thrown in jail. That way, they, too, could feel humiliated like I so often was. Spending some time rotting in their own ineptitude and failure would feel _good_ and make them realize just how often I felt like I was in a jail living with them.”

Olberic shook his head.  “Instead, they were killed.  All of them. I watched the executions, too.  I couldn’t _do_ anything--I was paralyzed.  I didn’t...I didn’t think that would happen.  I hated my family, but not enough to condemn them to _death_.  I had let people in, and...everyone.  My closest family, gone in about two minutes.  I...see them, sometimes. In my nightmares. Each death in detail, burned into my mind.”

Erhardt _stared_.  “You...blame yourself for their deaths?  But...it’s not! You’re not the one who pulled the triggers, were you?”

“No, but…” Olberic sighed.

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

“ _Fourteen_?  I’m sure that the revolutionaries were adults, so they _manipulated_ a vulnerable, angry fourteen year old outcast to provide them with an opportunity to commit murder!” Erhardt half-yelled.  “Assholes! Yes, I can see why you’d have a hard time trusting when your family rejected you and then other people used you to kill the only family you knew.”  Erhardt _seethed_. “I hope that, if any of them are still alive, they step in every questionable puddle they come across and their milk always spoils before the expiration date.”

Olberic burst out laughing at that.

“What?  I can’t actually wish them _harm_ , but I can wish upon them every inconvenience possible,” Erhardt growled.  “An entire sock drawer full of only single socks with no mates. That they’re late to an important engagement because they can’t find their keys.  That they always get to the bathroom and find out they’re out of toilet paper only after taking a massive shit.” 

Olberic pulled Erhardt close and nuzzled his hair before pressing a kiss to his temple.  “Erhardt…”

Erhardt turned into Olberic’s body and hugged him, scowling at the misty past.  “Douchebags.”

“Now, tell me why you needed to tell me your shadows at this moment,” Olberic said.  “Because I’m sure that there was a purpose behind telling me your secrets.”

“Aside from showing you that I’m serious about our relationship?”

“There is that,” Olberic said, a cautious warmth in his eyes.  “But I know you well enough to know that this conversation wasn’t without another goal.”

Erhardt sighed pulled back, although Olberic caught and held his hands.  “I’ve spoken with Mattias.”

Olberic clearly had to rifle through his memories before saying, “The Commerce Secretary?”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

“From what I can garner, Mattias knew Werner, and, based on how he spoke to _me_ , he either knows that I’m still involved or knew me when I was younger,” Erhardt sighed.  “I think I’ve managed to successfully give him the impression that I’m still under Werner’s thumb or that he has reclaimed me.  That I’m not Sir Erhardt anymore, but the pretty, pliant whore of so many years ago.”

“What?  _Why_?” Olberic demanded.

"Because I may be able to help...help in a _useful,_ more permanent way if I pretend when I’m around him.  Men like him don’t believe that people can change.”

“No!” Olberic said.  “You don’t have to pretend.  You don’t have to get hurt. There _must_ be another way.   Dangerous and powerful men eventually leave themselves open.  They think they’re too strong to not leave a trail until someone stops them.  Trust me. _I know._ "

"People are absolutely certain that Simeon is plotting something, but no one has been able to remove him from power. These people are dug in deep."

"Then we will uproot them _together_ ," Olberic said and squeezed Erhardt's hands in his. "You don’t have to do this alone.  I...I can help, somehow. Please, Erhardt. We got rid of Werner together. What’s keeping us from getting rid of Mattias--anyone!--as a team, too?"

Erhardt’s shoulders dropped slightly.  “Olberic. I love you, but you’re as subtle as a thunderstorm.”

“I can be a distraction?”

Erhardt laughed softly at that and removed his hands from Olberic’s so he could run his fingers through Olberic’s hair.  “I really, really wish you could come with me. I’d really like the support, the _protection_ , but...having _you_ accompany Werner would be weird, particularly if people associate you with me now or know you from Hornburg.”

“Wait, what?”

Erhardt shifted closer so he rested his hands on Olberic’s shoulders, then looked back to Olberic and held his eyes.  “When I saw Mattias last, he...invited me to a meeting. I’m not sure for what, and I don’t know how safe it will be, but I’m going to attend.  However, I’m not going as Sir Erhardt. That risks too much. I…”

Erhardt choked on the words, so Olberic drew him into a careful hug and held him gently. Erhardt buried his face in Olberic's neck. He took a few deep breaths before he spoke. 

"I'm going as Werner.  I’m going to be him. I...I remember _everything_ about him, every line of his body, his face, from how dark his eyes were when he was angry to the way he smiled when I did something that _pleased_ him.  I remember how he walked, how he spoke, the way he held himself, the way he watched a room.  I remember...how he evaluated a person, weighed them in terms of utility. His words are _burned_ into me. As long as Mattias isn’t there, I have a chance to obtain something _useful_ . I...if I play him right, play _this_ right, I may be able to even direct where they go and what opportunities they pursue."

Olberic pulled back a little bit and wiped away tears Erhardt’s hadn’t known he was shedding. 

"You don’t have to go,” Olberic whispered and kissed his forehead.  “Send an actor from the Institute. Say you couldn't make it. Or just don’t bother to show up at all. There was no, no, RSVP, right?  There’s no reason you _must_ attend, and definitely no reason you have to attend as _him._ ”

The hatred in Olberic’s voice and his unwillingness to even say Werner’s name was somehow soothing.  Even after so many years, Werner was still a boogeyman of sorts to Erhardt. That Olberic could treat him with nothing but contempt was refreshing.  

“I love you, Olberic,” Erhardt said softly, almost afraid to breathe.  Those words had led to such pain before, but this time...he _meant_ them.

“I love you, too, Erhardt,” Olberic responded without hesitation before  pulling Erhardt into his lap, holding him close. “I don’t want you to do this.  I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I don’t know _why_ you even considered doing this in the first place.  What...what prompted this in the first place?”

“I was acting as Ophilia’s companion at an event, and I ran into Mattias--and a _very_ creepy woman named Lyblac--and we spoke.  I...don’t even remember what started the conversation.  But I dropped Darius’ name--”

“Darius?”

“Er, another explanation that you deserve and that I was planning on providing to you today.  Let’s just say that I dropped a few names that caught Mattias’ attention. He gave me a business card with a number on the back for a man named _Werner_.  I had to know.  I had to know who was pretending to be him.  So, I called. Naturally, it wasn’t him, but I indicated that I was interested in pursuing opportunities that didn’t step on other people’s toes.  He said he’d get in contact with me via a _mutual_ _acquaintance_ , who could only be Mattias.”

“What made you talk to Mattias about slave trafficking anyway?”

“I don’t remember!  He’s a creepy bastard and--wait.  We were talking about the influx of women from Stillsnow.  I must have said the correct thing to remind him of when I was younger, to imply that I was...interested for one reason or another.  It just seemed like the right thing to imply at the time?”

Olberic sighed heavily and stroked Erhardt’s hair with the vigor of irritation, but Erhardt didn’t mind.

“So, I ended up talking to Mattias in the Cathedral at Flamesgrace and he gave me the contact information and details for the meeting I’m going to attend.”

“You mean that you’re _not_ going to attend.”

“Olberic.”

“Erhardt.  I don’t want to...I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I did take a few dancer classes, you know, and know all the right ways to escape if someone tries to hurt me.”

Olberic buried his face in Erhardt’s hair and Erhardt settled in closer.  “I’ll be okay, Olberic.”

“You’ll be a mess after you come back if you go as him,” Olberic murmured.

“I know.”

“Will you let me help you?”

“...after the worst is over.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not that, it’s…”

“That there are some things I’ll never understand,” Olberic said, but there was no anger or bitterness to it, just sadness.  

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

After a pause, Olberic pulled back a little and said, “So, who’s this Darius person?”

Erhardt sighed.  “Remember the guy I had you chase out of the cafe that one day?”

Olberic frowned for a moment, then nodded.  “He had orange hair and cold eyes, correct?”

Erhardt nodded.  “That’s the one. Well, apparently he’s the person behind Stillsnow and Northreach and the refugees from there.  I mentioned _his_ name to Mattias, which piqued Mattias’ interest.  He also made Therion’s life hell for quite a few years and has threatened to hurt Cordelia.  Or, at least _implied_ that he can or will hurt Cordelia is Therion doesn’t do what he wants.”

“Which is help him.”

“Probably.”

“Does Cordelia know?”

“Yes, and that's a story of its own.”

Erhardt felt Olberic sigh.  “Is there...is there _anything_ that I can do?  At all? I hate feeling so _useless._ ”

“Well, I’m going to a meeting with a couple other people to discuss some other things that they have uncovered and might help us or that may be good news regarding Darius and a whole slew of other problems.  I need to be in a good mood for it, even though I’m not going to be telling them I’m going to a meeting, just that Mattias is creepy and has his hands in trafficking. So, can we have sex?”

Olberic huffed and pulled back enough to look at Erhardt, who gave him the most charming smile he could.

“What kind of sex?” Olberic asked.  

“Don’t entirely care,” Erhardt responded.  “But I know I want you inside me.” He paused.  “We haven’t tested out how sturdy your furniture is yet, have we?”

“No, we haven’t.”

“Can we?”

“Which piece?”

“This one?” 

“You’ll have to give me a moment to get supplies from the bathroom.”

“I have no plans on going anywhere.”

“You better not,” Olberic said and kissed Erhardt _hard_.  

“I will _never_ get tired of that,” Erhardt murmured once Olberic left him.  He smirked slightly and quickly stripped, tossing all his clothing onto the nearby coffee table before stretching out on the couch.  He was already sporting the beginning of an erection from the make-out session, but wanted to give Olberic something to _see_ when he returned to the living room.  Erhardt began to slowly stroke himself, humming slightly at how sensitive he already was.  

_Gods, there’s really no one like him,_ Erhardt thought.  _No one else has ever gotten me going so fast._

Erhardt smiled smugly when Olberic exited the bathroom and didn’t bother to stop himself from moaning quietly at how Olberic’s gaze just took him in, consumed him.  

“Get over here and fuck me,” he purred.

Olberic smirked faintly and Erhardt shivered.  

Olberic shed his clothes as he walked over to Erhardt, and then opened, and encased himself in a condom before coming to a stop in front of Erhardt.  “You’re ready, but I’m not. _Make_ me.”

_Oh, gods, yes, please,_ Erhardt thought and shifted so he was sitting upright on the couch. Olberic’s cock was already standing at partial attention, and Erhardt happily took him into his mouth.  He wasn’t sure _why_ he liked sucking Olberic off so much, but he slowly worked so he was able to take in him as much as possible, and what he couldn’t have in his mouth he stroked firmly.  

He was _very_ disappointed when Olberic pulled away and was about to protest, but Olberic cut in:

“On your back, ass on the armrest.  I want to see your face as I take you.”

“Yes, sir,” Erhardt half-quipped and arranged himself as commanded.  Happy heat flowed through him as he watched Olberic open a bottle of lube and thoroughly coat his fingers.  Olberic caught Erhardt watching and gave him a smirk that made Erhardt shiver.  

Olberic moved between Erhardt’s legs, then lifted one and slung it over his shoulder so Erhardt’s knee was hinged over Olberic’s shoulder, which gave him slightly better access.  Erhardt didn’t mind the slightly off-kilter positioning, as he was very thoroughly distracted by Olberic beginning to prepare him.  

Erhardt squirmed and didn’t bother to suppress his vocalizations, relishing and _hating_ how slowly Olberic was going.  It always killed him, even though he did appreciate it, given Olberic’s size.  

“ _Olberic_ ,” he whined and tried to thrust his hips against Olberic’s ministrations. 

“Quiet,” Olberic responded.  

“But I want your dick _so bad_.”

“The more you say that the longer I’ll take,” Olberic said and Erhardt yelped and bucked when Olberic found his sweet spot.  

Erhardt felt that the best part about being with Olberic was that none of his (Erhardt’s) reactions were faked.  He genuinely enjoyed the sweet torture Olberic could give him, savored his sheer physicality, the gentleness in his hands and warmth in his eyes even as Olberic did _awful_ things.  From how quickly Olberic was breathing and how flushed his face was, Erhardt was fairly sure that taking as long as he was was killing Olberic as well.  

Erhardt barely kept himself from protesting when Olberic withdrew his fingers, but his protest died when Olberic shifted so Erhardt’s other leg was over his (Olberic’s) shoulder and  penetrated Erhardt in one surprisingly easy, swift stroke, then _stayed_ that way, buried balls-deep in his (Erhardt’s) body.  Olberic caught and held Erhardt’s eyes, and Erhardt found his breathing already coming fast and short.  There was something in Olberic’s gaze that sent a thrill through Erhardt that was almost as potent as the feeling of _fullness_ and protection that came from Olberic leaning over him, being in him.     

Then Olberic began to move, the penetration starting off easy and slow, letting Erhardt’s body get used to accommodating Olberic, and Erhardt shivered.  Erhardt moaned as Olberic subtly shifted them both and his gradually sped up. Erhardt tried to meet the thrusts, but the position had him mostly helpless, so he simply surrendered to Olberic, to the sensations, to an unthinking _want._

Usually when Erhardt had sex he had to be constantly _aware_ .  He was always thinking, always watching, always _learning_ his client’s body, their preferences, turn ons and turn offs, the things that made them lose all thought of anything except their body and the experience.  _Olberic_ was the only person Erhardt felt safe enough around to do that himself.  Even when in an incredibly compromising position, one where he could _easily_ be hurt, he...didn’t care.  It was _Olberic._

He was safe--and that, perhaps, was the most arousing thing of all.

Erhardt loved how Olberic varied the pace, how _he_ responded to _Erhardt’s_ reactions, and it was both strange and transcendent.  He didn’t know what to think--if anything--or what to feel.  He had never felt so cared for when being dicked so hard.  

When he came, it was with a cry of wordless ecstasy; he felt Olberic move within him a few more times before stilling with a long, low moan of Erhardt’s name.

Erhardt felt happily boneless as Olberic removed himself and slid Erhardt down the couch to be lying on it.  

“You doing okay?” Olberic asked.  

Erhardt opened his eyes and turned his head enough to see that Olberic was kneeling on the floor next to him.  He gave Olberic a bright smile and said, “Yup.”

“Then, when you’re feeling a little less hazy, could I ask a favor of you?”

“Oh?”

“Could you make love to me?”

Erhardt frowned.  “You didn’t come?”

“No, trust me, _I did_ ,” Olberic said and gently ran his fingers through Erhardt’s hair.  “You’re gorgeous and perfect, and I love unraveling you. But, you’re also the only one...the only one who I’ve told what really happened to my family in Hornburg.  Since that’s been one of the reasons I told myself that I’m _unlovable_ , having you...having you _make love_ to me would…”

“Would help you realize that you are lovable and desirable,” Erhardt finished and reached over to cup the back of Olberic’s head and make him look at him (Erhardt).  “Because you are. Give me a second, and we can make our way to your bedroom and I promise that I will leave you feeling so desired, so wanted and adored that you will never doubt me when I tell you I love you.”

Olberic held Erhardt’s eyes, and Erhardt nearly melted when he saw the low, subtle fear fade away and the softness that made Erhardt’s insides squirm take its place.  

“Thank you, Erhardt,” Olberic replied, his voice low and almost reverent.

_Alright.  Time to give him the treatment he deserves,_ Erhardt thought and slowly leveraged himself up sitting, then shifted so his feet rested on the floor, Olberic having stood and backed away to let Erhardt move.  

Erhardt stood as well, then captured Olberic in a slow, languid kiss.  He kept the driving _need_ he usually felt for Olberic out of the contact, instead merely exploring _how_ to kiss Olberic.  Once they were both pleasantly breathless, Erhardt took Olberic’s hand in his and tugged him into the bedroom.

The sight of the small scratches in the wall from their first _official_ time together still made Erhardt a little giddy, but that wasn’t the kind of sex that he was going for now.  He checked that Olberic’s bedside drawer had the necessary supplies, then crawled onto the bed, laid down on his back, and patted the mattress next to him.  Olberic followed the command, clearly curious. 

Once Olberic was settled, Erhardt rolled over enough to catch Olberic in another, brief kiss before slowly, thoroughly leisurely exploring Olberic’s body with his lips and tongue and fingers, tracing every scar, each dip and curve of musculature, with the utmost care and attention.  Erhardt knew Olberic’s body, of course, he had burned it into his memory, but there was something different about _learning_ his body, and it seemed like Olberic was just as aware of the difference from how ragged his breathing was becoming.  

Erhardt skipped over Olberic’s burgeoning erection, but that was one of the few places he didn’t, at the very least, _touch_ ; once he knew every inch of skin, Erhardt shifted so he was suspended over Olberic.  Under normal circumstances, Erhardt would have been deeply distressed to see Olberic crying, even a little bit, but the small, relieved smile, obvious arousal, and deep blush said that Erhardt didn’t have anything to worry about.  

“Could you roll over for me?” Erhardt asked softly.  “I saw you have normal lotion in your drawer, too, so I’d like to give you a back massage.  I’ll still make love to you, don’t worry. I’d just...like to give that to you first, if that’s okay with you.”

Olberic momentarily looked _stunned_ , which made Erhardt’s heart hurt.  

_I need to figure out more of what makes him_ happy _,_ Erhardt thought.  _I need to work harder at this.  Damnit, I thought I was doing pretty good, too._

Olberic eventually nodded, the gesture almost a little _shy_ , so Erhardt moved enough for Olberic to be able to turn over easily as he (Erhardt) obtained the lotion--unscented and of a brand Erhardt approved of.

Erhardt sat on Olberic’s glutes, opened the lotion, and started to work on Olberic’s back.  

Erhardt was actually licensed to practice as a massage therapist, and _did_ , from time to time, when he wanted a break from his normal work.  It usually lasted at longest a month, but most spas were happy to take him on, given that he _knew_ most of the owners from one job or another; he also included it on his list of services, but usually with a very different final outcome. 

Erhardt was glad to see that he hadn’t lost his touch, literally and figuratively, as Olberic slowly turned to mush beneath him.  Erhardt knew that there was no fixing the majority of Olberic’s tension in one session, but made an idle mental note to try to see if Olberic would like to ‘schedule’ appointments with him.  Olberic already let Erhardt bathe him after particularly vigorous sex, so Erhardt couldn’t see why he (Olberic) wouldn’t let Erhardt give him a massage.

“If you keep on doing as good a job as you are, I’m not sure I’ll be awake for how we’d like this to end,” Olberic murmured, his voice pleasantly drowsy.

“Well, then,” Erhardt said as he set aside the lotion and leaned over Olberic’s body to obtain the lube.  “We can’t have that, can we? Consider this a teaser, then. It’s definitely something I want to do for you in the future.”

“Truly?”

“Absolutely,” Erhardt responded and slowly slid his arm between Olberic’s abs and the bed.  “If you lift your hips and get on your knees, I’ll prepare you from this angle, which will probably get you ready to go.  I’ll have you roll over afterwards, since I’d like to watch your face.”

Olberic hummed in something that was between appreciation and anticipation, and did as requested.

It was a little harder to judge how Olberic felt about how Erhardt was preparing him without seeing his face, but the soft sounds Olberic made and how _obviously_ aroused he was becoming only served to make Erhardt’s own body _ache_ for him.  However, he had learned at least enough of Olberic to know _when_ to stop, so pulled away and murmured, “Could you turn over for me?”

Olberic did so, and Erhardt had to bite back a whine of desire from how Olberic _looked_.  He had seen the man caught in the throes of passion, had seen him burn hot and dark, had seen hunger and need, had seen a gentleness and softness that left Erhardt breathless.  Erhardt had seen Olberic in post-orgasmic happy haze, had seen him playful and cuddly and stunned from Erhardt turning every single ounce of skill on him.  

He had never seen Olberic look at him with...there was really no other word for it except _love._   Seeing the emotion on Olberic’s face, Erhardt wondered if he even had the faintest idea of what _loving_ someone meant.

_Maybe he will teach me,_ Erhardt thought, feeling oddly humbled.  _What it means to love besides giving another person as much pleasure as I possibly can._

To deal with how flustered at the depth and vulnerability Olberic was displaying, he reached for a condom, only to be brought short by Olberic gently catching his wrist.  He shook his head, and Erhardt shivered. 

“You’re sure?” Erhardt asked.

“You’ve checked yourself recently?”

“Still disease free,” Erhardt confirmed.

“Then, yes.  I’m sure.”

“Thank you,” Erhardt murmured, although he wasn’t _quite_ sure what he was thanking Olberic for.  His trust, perhaps?

It was some of the most gentle sex Erhardt could remember having, but it was also a journey-not-destination thing.  Penetration and orgasm was less important than...touches, kisses, eye contact, shared whispers and smiles. It was utterly bizarre, but Erhardt found that he... _enjoyed_ it.  

He’d never do it with any client _ever_ , but with Olberic it was...special.  Unique. Something for only them. He could feel his orgasm creeping up on him, of course, but it still was almost a surprise when he _did_ come, although the greater surprise was that he and Olberic actually came _together_.  Erhardt could count on one hand the number of times that he and another person had orgasmed simultaneously--assuming he orgasmed when with a client at all.  

Erhardt pulled back and discovered that he was _trembling_ , and he wasn’t quite sure _why_.  

“How are you feeling?” he asked Olberic instead.  Whatever _he_ was feeling he clearly couldn’t process correctly, which meant that was something he had to discuss with his therapist.  

Olberic blinked a few times before he could focus on Erhardt, then gave him the most _gentle_ smile Erhardt had ever been treated to.

“Wonderful,” Olberic said, his voice soft and low.  

“Good,” Erhardt responded, that one-word answer sending happy bubbles bursting in his chest.

Olberic tugged Erhardt down to lying next to him and pulled him into a hug that Erhardt _snuggled_ into.  

_I like this,_ Erhardt thought and pressed a kiss to Olberic’s neck as one arm was slung around Olberic’s waist and resting on the small of his back.  

Unfortunately, the blissful silence was shattered by his phone going off in the other room--Leon’s ringtone.

Erhardt groaned into Olberic’s skin.  “Damnit. I don’t want to.”

“You have someplace to be, don’t you?” Olberic murmured, clearly equally unhappy at the intrusion.

“I do,” Erhardt grumbled.  “Very well. Time for reality.”

“Do you want to take a shower?” Olberic asked.

Erhardt looked down at himself and shrugged.  “I’ll probably just wipe the worst of the stickiness and sweat away.  I don’t mind walking around smelling like sex and _you_.”

Olberic’s face flushed dark, even though he was clearly struggling not to smile.  “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely,”Erhardt responded.  He gave Olberic one last kiss before leaving Olberic and his bed behind to face a much more unpleasant reality.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me preface this by saying that I have woefully underdeveloped Leon in the actual story while knowing all of his and Erhardt's backstory in my head, so his characterization may come off as a little strange to those who don't live in my bizarre mental landscape.
> 
> And, as always, nothing Octopath related belongs to me.

Erhardt was the last to arrive to the Very Important Meeting, and did not care that he was almost an hour late.  Arianna, Leon, Yusufa, and Kit were all present; while Arianna, Kit, and Yusufa looked a little annoyed, Leon smirked after giving Erhardt a once-over. 

Erhardt sat down and gave the assembled his most charming smile.  “I hope I didn’t miss anything too important.”

“We deliberately scheduled this meeting on a day you have off, and you  _ still _ arrive late,” Arianna scolded.

“Oh, well, time flies when you’re having  _ fun _ ,” Erhardt said, his smile not faltering.  

Arianna sighed heavily.  “Well, now that we’re  _ all _ here, let’s address the  _ truly pressing _ matters at hand.”

“We’ve finally have down enough leads to say for certain that the Cianno family is deeply involved in financing the slave trade, among the things that we’ve already known or suspected,” Kit said.  “A branch has always been involved in the illegal drug business, but it looks like they may be seriously considering--or already entered into--a partnership of sorts with Miguel. Samples of Red-Eye have already been found in Whispermill and Grandport, and there was a report in Orewell, if only because the drug dealer was strung up as a warning.  Admittedly, we’ve found bits and pieces of the drug and its attainability all throughout the continent, but in many places the local government or culture is such that they see what is happening in the Sunlands and want nothing to do with it. The Institute has had much more luck in the Frostlands, Flatlands, and Woodlands; we know the routes, codes, and have uprooted the most influential kingpins, at least for Red-Eye.  The Cliftlands have policed themselves, for the most part, although it’s the Coastlands that worry me. Should the Cianno family decide to try to expand  _ outside _ of Osterra, particularly if they do team up with Miguel…”

“Which is why we’ve been in touch with other nations surrounding Osterra,” Arianna said.  “We’ve given them every detail possible about Red-Eye, so if it shows up in their cities, they’ll at least know what to look for.  I’m sure it already  _ has _ expanded, just not to the same extent.”

“It also doesn’t seem like he works  _ alone _ ,” Kit said.  “Well, no, that’s a lie.  He runs the show on his own, but he isn’t smart enough to  _ make _ Red-Eye on his own.  We actually...we actually think he might be involved with someone either from Dohter or the Academy.  I have names and appearances of the most likely candidates, but we haven’t yet had the time to investigate either  _ thoroughly _ .  I actually found the one in the Academy through what Sir Zeph told me--there is a woman named Lucia fairly close to the Vice-Chancellor of the Academy.   _ His _ name is Yvon.  It’s entirely possible that she was the contact in the past, too.  The other one is a woman named Vanessa. Being from Dohter, she has more access to what could synthesize Red-Eye, so we have someone moving in closer to her.”

“But,  _ why _ ?” Erhardt asked.  “Why make something that can kill people if you’re in training to learn to heal?”

“Some people like money more than they like human lives,” Leon said.  “And she may be coming up with an ‘antidote’ that she can market and make a  _ whole _ lot of money by providing the cure to the problem she has made.”

“And that is why she’s being investigated,” Kit said, sounding a little sad.  “It’s always the worst, finding out when doctors or other people who are meant to  _ aid _ others are the ones doing the damage.”

“So, while the Red-Eye problem isn’t necessarily under control, we have a good grasp of the situation and are making steps towards halting the spread of the drug,” Arianna said.  “Simeon is as he ever is, sitting pretty in Everhold and manipulating world politics from the shadows. I can now confirm that both Rufus  _ and _ Albus are out and about in the world.  I think Albus is still in Osterra for certain, although I’m not sure where Rufus has flown off to.  Simeon has  _ hundreds _ of contacts throughout the entire world, and for each one we manage to pin down and  _ convince _ that working for Simeon is not in their best interest or that we reveal as corrupt, two more take their place.”

“People enjoy power,” Erhardt murmured.  “However they can get it.”

“The King in Marsalim is also  _ finally _ willing to directly accept our help,” Arianna said.  “We’ve sent a number of agents down there in employment of the Crown.  Some are working to stop the auxiliary trade of people that has sprung up from addiction and despair, while others are working to stop Miguel.  We are...going to lose quite a few people, I fear, but they went willingly.”

“It is still awful, knowing that people we’ve laughed with are going to die,” Yusufa said.  “We’ve tracked down Darius and pushed the man himself back to Northreach. Stillsnow is almost entirely ours, although there is some remaining resistance--and  _ heavy _ evidence of Simeon’s involvement.  Darius left a young man behind in Stillsnow to run the failing business--his name is Gareth.  He was picked up by Darius when he was younger and has been working as a ‘partner’ and accomplice since then.  He is devoted to the man and not the business, though, which means that he’ll give up Stillsnow if Darius’ life is in danger.  It also means he’ll be willing to continue the trade if we kill or capture Darius before we kill or capture Gareth.”

“I really would prefer it if he was alive,” Arianna said.

“It will be what it will be,” Yusufa replied with a shrug.  “I’ll try to have him brought in alive, but make no guarantees.  A zealot would rather die than be captured, and a man in love can be likened to that.”

Leon frowned sharply, and while Erhardt didn’t  _ like _ Yusufa’s statement, he couldn’t entirely discount it.

_ Devotion can be weaponized, _ he thought.  

“Either way, we’re close to recapturing Stillsnow and even closer to cornering Darius in Stillsnow,” Yusufa said.  “I can also confirm that the Crows have flown, although, again, can’t entirely tell you  _ where _ .  They’re very good at being very sneaky, but they’ve had a long time to lean how to become so.”

Kit sighed.  “For every problem we take care of, five more take their place.”

“Well, I’ve traveled through the Riverlands and the Church’s influence is strong enough down there that there has been a significant resistance to the slave trade and the drug trade, and the presence of Winnehild Academy further discourages it.  There’s more or less a small army in the Riverlands that no one wants to mess with,” Leon said. “The Highlands closest to the Sunlands have already been decimated--in some towns that I used to pass by, there are no survivors or the towns are just strangely...empty.  It might be Simeon, it might be Red-Eye, it might be something else. I can’t tell you where or how to even  _ start _ , though.”

That caused a long, pensive silence.

_ So much to do and so little time to do it in, _ Erhardt thought.   _ And now I have to drop on them information that I don’t want to explain the source of--either how I got it, or from whom I obtained it--and just how much more it may complicate matters. _

“I believe I have discovered who the  _ M _ Therion mentioned is,” Erhardt said.

“Oh?” Arianna asked while Yusufa gave him a curious look.

“It’s Mattias.”

“Mattias Lionel?” Arianna asked.

Erhardt nodded.  

“How exactly did you find this out?”

“He and I...spoke.”

There was a long, weighing silence from Arianna, suspicion from Yusufa, and concern radiating off of Kit.  Leon was harder to read, but he seemed caught between suspicion, confusion, and concern.  

“I see,” Arianna said slowly.  

“It was a wonderfully productive conversation and I hope to be able to present you with more concrete evidence in the near future of how deep he is in this,” Erhardt said, keeping his voice light and posture relaxed. "I had a second meeting with him wherein I spoke the same code as him and played on the fact that he apparently knew me when I was younger. He gave me information about an upcoming...event. I had to unravel three different layers of cipher, but I know where I'm going, even if I'm not entirely sure who I'll be in contact with. If I'm lucky, maybe I'll meet some or all of the people we just spoke about."

"If you're lucky," Leon said slowly. 

"You really think  _ Mattias _ is involved in slavery?  In the drug trade?" Arianna asked, concerned and skeptical. 

"It seems like he is," Erhardt responded. 

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then I'm wrong. I'm going to attend the meeting, though."

"Not as Sir Erhardt, surely," Kit said. 

Erhardt shook his head. "I know its it's a better job for a spy, but I'm asking you to trust me. I'll come back with something useful. I'll make sure to...wire myself."

It hurt to say that, because he was bound to say some shitty things, but he wanted more evidence than his report. 

"You're important to Noblecourt and the Institute and you're not trained to handle the same kind of stresses--" Arianna began, but Yusufa stepped in. 

"You  _ know _ that you can do this?" she asked, holding Erhardt's eyes. 

"Absolutely," Erhardt replied. 

"You know that what you're proposing is dangerous."

"Yes."

"And might end up with you hurt or dead."

"I have no intention to die."

"And that if you get caught the Institute will cut all ties with you and revoke your license."

"I am aware."

"And, knowing all these things, you are still willing to take the risk?"

"Yes."

"You have important people to come back to," Kit said. "You probably won’t be able to return to them if you fail."

"Well, then, that's just incentive to  _ n _ ot fail, right?" Erhardt said with a smile.

"Well, we can’t  _ stop _ you," Arianna sighed. "But I do appreciate you warning us. I can prepare a statement in case you fail and it becomes public knowledge."

Erhardt was a little annoyed at how little faith the others seemed to have in him, but he would admit to coming off as...not  _ vapid _ , but incapable of the kind of subterfuge required for the meeting he was to attend. 

_ Well, I'm full of surprises, _ Erhardt thought. 

"The meeting is next week at 6PM. I'll probably report back a few days later. I hope you don't mind the delay--I'll probably need a little time to recover."

"In that case, let an actor do an actor's job," Arianna said. 

"Even actors sometimes need a recovery period," Kit said. "Undercover missions are emotionally taxing."

Arianna looked  _ distinctly  _ unhappy, while Yusufa looked...intrigued. 

_ I suppose she never thought I'd put my skin on the line like this, _ Erhardt mused.

"Well, it seems like we all have our assignments," Kit said.  "We'll arrange something once Erhardt comes back from his  _ successful  _ mission."

"Right," Arianna agreed. "Everyone, keep in touch."

Kit left with Arianna, and Yusufa vanished out her own way before Erhardt and Leon stood.

“Erhardt, we need to talk,” Leon said and kept Erhardt from leaving the office building where they had held the meeting.

Erhardt sighed.  “About what, Leon?”

“Why  _ you _ are going to see Mattias, and how you knew  _ what _ to say to get him to invite you.”

"I'm going to see him because I am the one he invited," Erhardt responded. "I'm also trained in how to read clients and tailor my behavior to what they want."

"He doesn’t sound like a  _ client _ , and he has always been vocal about how the Institute should be...disbanded, I guess. There is more to the story than what you told everyone, but they either preferred to guess or decided that the less they knew, the better it would be for  _ you _ ." 

“Because, in all honesty, it  _ is _ ,” Erhardt said.  “However, I need to tell you about part of what I have in mind, since it hinges on your response.”

"To what?" Leon asked, suspicious. 

"I'm...I’m actually asking you to put yourself in danger, as much as that kills me," Erhardt murmured. 

“Erhardt, stop stalling.”

"I… am in touch with some of the pimps in the Cliftlands,” Erhardt sighed.  “I let them think what they will about  _ why _ , but I do get them to send over whores they no longer find useful to Wellspring and I buy them before setting them up for a better life in Cobbleston, Atlasdam, Stoneguard, here, or Saintsbridge."

Leon nodded slowly. "And?"

"I'm going to offer a contact I have in Riverford as an...act of good faith in the meeting. I need you to either act as a runner for me a few times or tell me who I can trust to do that and not think too much less of me." 

"Why are you in touch with those people in the first place?"

“It is important to know the sources--that way it’s possible to intercept the people without them suffering extensive harm or hardship,” Erhardt said. 

“Okay, fine, then _ why _ are they okay with speaking to you?” Leon demanded.

"I knew Werner's competition and reputation," Erhardt responded. "Dropping his name opened a lot of his doors out of fear alone."

"You would have to do more than just name-drop to get people as suspicious as Riverford pimps and Mattias to trust you."

Erhardt shook his head. "Will you help me or not?"

"Of course I'll help you, I just want to know _why_ _you_."

"Because it  _ must _ be me."

"Why?"

"Leon,  _ drop it." _

"No. If I'm going to help you, I need to know  _ why _ I'm helping you."

"Because helping me will help vulnerable people escape a bad situation. Is that not enough?  I’m not  _ brave _ , Leon, like you or Tressa or Primrose or Zeph.  I’d much rather have other people do the work for."

“Like you’re asking me?”

Erhardt’s training alone was the only thing that kept him from flinching.  “I am  _ asking _ you, not manipulating you. You can say  _ no _ and I’ll understand and won’t ask again.”

“Instead you’ll just find some other fool to help you?”

“I need  _ someone _ to help!” Erhardt snapped.  “I can’t go in there myself, they can’t know that  _ I’m _ involved.”

“Involved?  In what? The slave trade?” Leon spat.

A thousand different answers came to him, words meant t _ o hurt _ and stop Leon from asking anything else. But, he didn’t want to hurt Leon--he loved Leon, even if his younger brother occasionally infuriated him. Just because he (Erhardt) didn’t want to answer a question didn’t mean he needed to hurt Leon to do so.

"Leon, what are you trying to get me to say?” Erhardt asked. 

“I want you to tell me the truth,” Leon said.  “Whenever we talk, whenever we have  _ serious _ conversations, you always run around in verbal circles or give me half-answers.  I can’t  _ tell _ anymore, who you are.  How much of our interactions is Institute training and how much is Erhardt?”

Erhardt frowned sharply, and barely kept his own accusations to himself.  

_ How much aren’t  _ you _ telling me, Leon?  How many lies have you told me with a straight face because you thought I can’t ‘handle’ how often you nearly get yourself killed by taking moronic risks?  What leg do you possibly have to stand on when accusing  _ me _ of being evasive? _

“If I ever use Institute training around you, it’s to keep myself calm,” Erhardt said.  “You have always known the right buttons to push to make me react.”

“Only because you  _ don’t _ react otherwise.” Leon ran his fingers through his hair.  

"I  _ love _ you, Leon."

"Don't just say it! Why...we were close, once. But, you...you push away the ones you love.  Is that how I'm supposed to know that you care? By how much you seem to want nothing to do with me?"

"I'm trying, Leon," Erhardt said. "I love you and I'm trying to make up so much to so many different people, but you seem to be determined to prove you are  _ so strong _ when I want you to know that you can rely on me  _ but you won't _ ."

 "Because I  _ can't _ rely on you," Leon replied.  “Not when you won’t tell me the truth.”

Only the training Leon had disparaged kept Erhardt breathing. “What do you want me to say, Leon?”

“I don’t  _ want _ you to say anything.  Don’t you understand?  _ That  _ is the problem.  You...I can’t tell if you’re sincere, or if you’re lying, playing to my expectations.”  Leon glared at Erhardt. “If you want to  _ prove _ that you’re sincere, that you’re not lying to me, then tell me how long.”

“How long  _ what _ , Leon?” Erhardt asked, trying to corral his irritation.

“How long have you been buying humans?” Leon demanded.  “I suppose I just should be grateful that you’re no longer selling them, too.”

The metaphorical floor dropped out from under Erhardt. “What?  What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Erhardt, don't play dumb.  I’ve always been smarter more observant than you have ever been--than you ever will be, apparently,” Leon said.  “You think I didn’t notice when we were younger? That you seduced people into trusting you before sending them off to their fate, whatever it might be?  That you put a price on them, judged their monetary  _ worth _ with impeccable skill and cold detachment?  I suppose it’s actually rather impressive, looking back on it.”

“I did what I had to,” Erhardt replied.  

“You  _ had _ to do nothing,” Leon said.  “You looked fucking  _ pleased _ each time you handed one off to Werner.  You liked it, admit it. It made you feel like you had power, didn’t it?  And you  _ liked that. _ ”

“Was I happy back then, each time I handed someone over?  Yes! Okay? Is  _ that _ what you wanted, Leon?  Did you want me to agree with you, to acknowledge that I’ve always barely been better than any of the others, if not  _ worse _ ?” Erhardt snapped.  “Maybe I  _ have  _ deluded myself into thinking I have even a  _ shred _ of integrity.  You, Zeph, Primrose, Arianna, Tressa--you all do things that actively  _ help _ people.  All I have ever done but use people and be used by others, right?  What  _ worth, _ what  _ value _ do I have except how I  _ pleasure _ others?”

A tense, angry silence fell between them.

“Why, Erhardt?” Leon asked.  

“When I was younger?  Because I  _ had to, _ ” Erhardt said.  “Wanted to, even.  I  _ knew _ it was wrong to help Werner, but I did anyway, because  _ I had to.” _

“You didn’t  _ have to _ .  There is always a choice!”

“No, there fucking  _ wasn’t _ , Leon!” Erhardt snapped.  

“Why not? And why do you  _ keep _ on doing it?”

“I did it then because I wanted to survive!  I’m pretty, but I’m not a woman--I had to work twice as hard to bring in half as much as Werner required of me.  Finding people for him filled what I couldn’t earn myself.”

Leon blinked, then balked a little.  “He used me against you, didn’t he? He backed you into a corner by threatening  _ me _ , didn’t he?”

“I didn’t--”

“You shouldn't have worried about me in the first place, I would have escaped, survived."

"I couldn't be sure! If you...If I could protect you, provide for you, it didn't matter what I had to do.  I regret what I did, but I don't regret why I did it."

"Yeah, well, I regret it on your behalf," Leon spat. 

"It is what it is.  I...atone for it as best I can.   _ That _ is why I still participate in the trade.  Why I buy in bulk. The more people I purchase...the more people I can help avoid that fate."

"What else did you have to do for him? How else did you have to, to, debase yourself to help  _ me _ ?"

"It doesn't matter!"

"Yes, it does! How can you look at me and not feel  _ bitter _ ?"

"You're my brother! I  _ love  _ you and would have done  _ anything _ to keep you safe, no matter the personal cost."

"It wasn't your burden to bear!" 

"You were fucking  _ ten years old," _ Erhardt snarled. "Fourteen when we escaped. What was I going to ask of you? I had to, to, to keep Werner focused on me and how  _ useful I _ was so you could keep going to school, make friends, do  _ kid _ things."

"Fifteen is barely not a kid."

"It was old enough!"

A pained, angry silence descended.

"At least I understand why a little better now. Why its it's so hard to get you to  _ talk _ ,” Leon said.  “The less I know, the more you keep me at a distance, the easier it is to make sure that the attention is on  _ you _ . You don't hog the spotlight because you want it. You do it so everyone will be so focused on you that they won't look to the people who would stand beside you."

"Leon, if you’d just  _ listen _ \--"

"You don't have to do that anymore. We're all adults, me and your friends. We're all strong people on our own. You don't have to protect us at your own expense. You can trust us."

“I  _ do  _ trust you!  I die a little each time I hear that you've volunteered to help get people to safety from Marsalim or Everhold or Stillsnow. I complain that you put yourself in harm's way, but I  _ let you go _ , don't i?"

"I know how to fight, protect myself. I was a smuggler and a pirate, I've dealt with a few brushes with death. I can handle myself in dangerous situations.  I don’t need you, Erhardt, to survive. I never have."

“Then why do you care if I do this?”

“Because Olberic cares for you, and he won’t survive if you don’t return.”

"Look, just let me do this. If I succeed, then I'll come back with information that could prove vital."

"And if you don't come back at all?" Leon asked.

_ "Then I don’t _ ! _ " _ Erhardt said. "The gods know you come back halfway to your grave often enough.  Think of this as me emulating my brave, strong younger brother who doesn’t seem to value his own life."

"I take the risks I do because I know you'll pay attention to me that way, that you won't be _ too busy  _ for your younger brother."

"I keep myself busy because I don't know when you'll be back, if at all!  _ Why _ , Leon? I don't understand why you still chase your death! Where did I fail you, how did I fail you, that you think that is the best way to get and keep my attention?"

“Because it is the only thing that has ever worked.  I looked up to you once, Erhardt. Now, I don’t know why I did.”

_ Why?  _ Erhardt wondered.   _ Why is he saying these things?  Why is he doing his best to hurt-- _

“Do  _ not _ blame yourself for my decisions,” Erhardt said, his voice harsh.

“If I wasn’t around for you to worry about, then you wouldn’t have had to do such awful things.”

“You were an excuse, not the reason!  I...even if you hadn’t been around, I would have probably helped Werner because  _ I _ wanted to survive.  I have only and always been selfish, Leon.  It’s why I hurt you. Hurt Olberic. Because I can’t stand  _ losing _ things, but that’s changing.  I..I’m trying with Olberic, to learn to not be afraid.  To love someone without expecting that I’ll lose them.” Erhardt sighed.  “I told Olberic about...everything. I had kept it from you because I  _ knew _ you’d blame yourself, just like you are now.  If anyone is at fault, it’s Werner, for manipulating me.  But he’s  _ dead _ now.  So, can you...if you say you can’t trust me, rely on me, then at least believe that I am selfish enough to come back alive.”

An uneasy silence hung between them before Leon sighed, the sound both frustrated and defeated. 

"Okay," Leon said. "Fine. You'll let me know the route and pick-up points once the meeting is over?"

Erhardt nodded. "Thank you, really, for helping. I'll give you names and appearances once I get back."

"Okay."

Erhardt gave Leon the best smile he could manage and said, "Now, I need to start getting my contacts and disguise in order, but I'm starving. Lots of exercise earlier. So, how about some lunch?"

Leon nodded, the smallest flicker of  _ something  _ crossing his face before he said: "I know a place pretty close. Do you want to try there?"

"Sure," Erhardt said, giving Leon a brighter smile.

Erhardt followed Leon out, just a step behind as he tried to banish Leon's words even as they echoed and rattled around in his head.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing Octopath Traveler belongs to me.

After prolonged efforts at wearing Heathcote down, the old special ops agent caved and agreed to open the manor to Institute trainees--actors, diplomats, and dancers, as it wasn't safe for escorts--and as a safe house to those who needed it. If anywhere in the Cliftlands was safe for women and men who needed to escape dire situations, Boulderfall was the city, if only because of the Ravus' presence and their frequent employment of Erhardt.  

"I don’t think I've ever seen you so dressed-down," Cordelia teased.

Erhardt looked down at himself. Red romper with a subtle, tasteful floral print, gold sandals, his normal ruby earrings and a single gold bracelet. 

"I suppose," Erhard replied. "I'm usually here as your plus-1 to events, so you'd be used to something much more elaborate than this."

"It’s not exactly the best clothes to wear when moving people in, though," Cordelia commented. 

Cordelia herself was wearing a pair of older blue jeans and a blue graphic t-shirt and had her bangs held back by literal butterfly-shaped clips. Cordelia had begun the day assisting the trainees in moving in, but once they and Heathcote caught on to what she was doing, she was relegated to the sidelines and directing traffic.  

Erhardt was “supervising,” which was code for keeping Cordelia company and making sure no one got hurt. 

“Would you believe me if I said this was my most casual outfit?” Erhardt asked.

Cordelia snorted.  “Clearly you don’t believe in casual.”

“I also don’t believe in getting sweaty and dirty when other people will do the work for me,” Erhardt said as he watched a group of trainees laughing as they walked by.  “Your mansion is mostly furnished anyway, so they just need to be directed to where they’re going to be staying, and _that_ is something that I can do quite well.”

Cordelia snickered.  “Can’t mess up your hair, huh?”

“Absolutely.” 

"Boulderfall is quite far from Noblecourt, though," Cordelia murmured. 

"It doesn't hurt to have somewhere safe in this area, and it presents its own challenges," Erhardt said. "The...culture...here is quite different. The Church also doesn't mind the back-up. Saintsbridge is fairly distant from Flamesgrace."

"I knew you all did much more than just train escorts, I suppose i just didn't know _how_ much more. I never thought that there were so many people studying," Cordelia commented.  “What do...what exactly are these people training to become?”

Erhardt looked at Cordelia, considering his options.  

_Besides the Azelharts, the Ravuses are one of the Institutes’ greatest benefactors.  It would be rude for her to_ not _know._

“It takes a bit of explaining,” Erhardt responded.

“Neither of us are going anywhere,” she pointed out.

“The Institute has four specializations,” Erhardt began.  “Dancer, Escort, Actor, Courtesan.”

Cordelia frowned sharply.  “I...know? Well, I know about dancer, escort, and actor.  I figured that the reason people don’t like the Institute is because of the escort training more than anything else.  Everything else makes you sound not that different from a fine arts college or something, and you do offer, uh, public courses on things, including sex and sexuality, and a lot of the dancers and actors go on to, well, act and dance in prestigious companies or found their own.  However, I’m getting the feeling there is more to it.”

“I can trust you, right?” Erhardt asked.  

“Definitely!”

“Everything but ‘escort’ is a code term.  Escorts are what I am--very expensive sex workers with a great deal of training that goes beyond what you learn on the streets.  The others…” Erhardt paused and rolled a strand of hair between his fingers. “An actor is a spy. A courtesan is a diplomat. A dancer is an assassin.”

“Wait, so the reason why Prim is sometimes gone for so long…?”

Erhardt shrugged.  “The dancers keep to themselves for a _very_ good reason.  I ask nothing of her that she does not offer willingly.”

“And...is that why there are so many who want to get rid of the Institute?”

“It actually is mostly because of the sex work education program,” Erhardt said with a shrug.  “Moral purity or some nonsense. However, those who _do_ know about the Institute’s other...offerings...either take full advantage of them or want to see us destroyed due to how _good_ we are at training the others.”  

Cordelia frowned and ran her fingers through her hair.  “I...do a lot of people know?”

“I’m sure a lot of people suspect, but we wouldn’t be terribly good spies or assassins if people _actually_ knew what the names meant, now would we?”

Cordelia shook her head slowly.  “And that's what these people are?  How do you _explain_ it away?”

“Well, the escorts provide an excellent smokescreen,” Erhardt said and gave her a flirtatious smile.  “We also provide a great deal of social services. Even if we have no actual building, we act as a primary and secondary school, a bit of vocational training here and there, and all of our first year classes are technically open to the public, so people think they know what they’re getting into and that, if a student goes beyond first year, it’s merely because they’re more ambitious and want to get better training.  We...do require an interview before moving on into second year and a slightly heftier deposit. If you’re moving on to second year, we ask that you be _invested_ , monetarily, intellectually, and emotionally.”

Cordelia looked pensively at the floor, arms crossed over her chest as she thought.

After a comfortable pause, Erhardt said, "I haven't seen you around much lately." 

"I haven't had reason to be in Noblecourt," Cordelia murmured. "There is always something to do here on weekends, and Noblecourt isn’t as conducive to my creativity as it once was."

"Tressa and I have missed you. I enjoyed seeing you outside of formal events."

“I miss seeing you guys, too,” Cordelia said, her smile weak.  “It was nice...being around friends.”

Erhardt waited.

“It was...nice, being normal,” she continued.  “Just hanging out in a cafe. I got a lot of writing done.  I nearly finished a play, actually, before...inspiration dried up.  It was a bit of a hassle, going from Atlasdam to Noblecourt so often, but it was worth it.”

Cordelia smiled, the expression absent and sad.  “I liked watching Z’aanta and Odette flirt. I liked Alfyn’s dad jokes and how  _exasperated_ he made Zeph.  I liked getting book recommendations from Mr. Albright and talking about them with him over tea.  I liked getting to know Ophilia and Lianna and hearing about what it was like to grow up in the church.  I garnered so much material from Tressa and Leon’s relationship roller coaster. And seeing...seeing how you and Mr. Eisenberg _l-love_ each other...”

Cordelia’s eyes grew watery and her cheeks flushed with emotion.

“I hate it, Erhardt!” she choked out.  “I _hate_ that he won’t _trust_ me.  I hate that...I hate that he pushed me away.  It _hurts_.  I want to be in Noblecourt, I want to see everyone, but he says such _awful_ things to me!”

Erhardt stepped forward and pulled Cordelia into a gentle hug.  She curled into his chest, her hands fisting in the fabric of his romper.  

“ _Why_?” she demanded.  “I’m not helpless like he thinks I am.  I’ve run the risk of being hurt my entire life.  Kidnapped, ransomed, injured--I’m too wealthy and too _alone_ to not have to worry.  Why does he think this is any different?  I’ve survived stalkers and predators and evil men before!  This _Darius_ will be no different!”

“He’s afraid,” Erhardt responded.  “He’s afraid of hurting you, but he’s also afraid of being hurt himself.”

“Then why doesn’t he say that?  Why doesn't he...things were going so well.  I really thought I had found a friend, and then...found someone I could be myself with, someone who I could love and would love me back without ulterior motives.  But then _Darius_ shows up and Therion blocks my number, _ignores_ or insults me, does everything he possibly can to _hurt_ me.  And all to, what?  Show he doesn’t care?  Because he _does_ care and I hate that I still want his companionship and his smile!  I _hate_ it!”

Erhardt held onto Cordelia as she cried tears of _frustration_ into his chest, and murmured a lullaby he remember his mother having sung to him.  It was one of the few loving memories he had retained from his childhood.

“He was so _nice_ ,” Cordelia continued.  “He was fun to talk to. I loved his wit.  It felt like a triumph, each time I got him to genuinely laugh.  He was...he was _finally_ opening up to me.  I know a little bit of what Darius did to him, and I _hate_ that asshole.  Do you know why Therion keeps his face hidden?  His left arm in bandages? Because Darius tried to _burn him alive_.  Therion fought, though, got away, but...the burns were so bad...Dr. Crossford found him, brought him to the hospital, cared for him and made sure he got the best treatment, and promptly adopted him once it was discovered that Therion had no family of his own.”

Erhardt barely didn’t wince.  He was familiar with burns, having nearly been burned alive himself.

“I wanted him...I wanted him to _know_ that he was safe,” Cordelia said, her voice heated.  “That he was safe with me and that I wouldn’t judge him or anything for his past.  I _liked_ him, Erhardt, and he liked me and now he acts like he _hates_ me. _Why_?  _Why_ can’t I have someone who loves me like you love Mr. Eisenberg?  Like Tressa and Leon? Like Ophilia and H’aanit? It’s not _fair!_ Or have I not suffered enough?!”

Erhardt shifted slightly and picked Cordelia up into a carry, who just clung to his chest and cried.  He walked over to a nearby chair, sat down, arranged Cordelia in his hold, and just gently stroked her hair.  He had nothing to offer her but his touch. Under normal circumstances, he would have offered sexual touch, but he was pretty sure that Cordelia would _not_ find that comforting.

“I’ll find someone else, then, I suppose” Cordelia said once she stopped crying, weary resolve in her voice.

“Someone else?” Erhardt repeated as he continued to gently stroke her head, neck, and shoulders.  

“Someone else to, to, to date.  To care about. Maybe that way Therion’ll think I’m more _protected,”_ she said, almost spitting the final word.  “That Darius won’t go after me because I’m not attached to him or whatever _bullshit_ he has convinced himself is true.”

Erhardt gently stroked Cordelia’s hair and barely kept himself from sighing sadly. _I know this game._

“I’ll help you, if that is what you truly wish,” Erhardt murmured.  “Perhaps Therion was merely for a season, to show you what you liked in a potential partner.”  He paused. “It will be a game we can play at functions."

"What?" Cordelia asked through a sniffle.

"We can judge if there are any worthwhile suitors at the event. Maybe I can even give you a few lessons in emotional manipulation--I mean, flirting."

Cordelia moved away enough to let go of Erhardt’s clothes and rubbed her eyes on her sleeve. "I guess. Not Kit, though, although I do like him. It would feel like a rebound or something, since they're brothers."

"Kit is also quite busy these days with Institute work."

Cordelia looked curious, and said, "I didn't know he helped the Institute."

"Assume that, at least among those who live in Noblecourt, more than half of them are involved with the Institute somehow."

Cordelia nodded slightly. "But...you'll still be my partner?" she asked, her voice small and hesitant.

"Until you decide you dislike my company, I would like to be your partner and friend," Erhardt replied and gently kissed her forehead.

Cordelia took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. "Who knows? Maybe I'll find someone among the trainees who have moved in. You all are allowed to date, right?"

"Even marry," Erhardt said. 

"Really?"

"Escorts usually marry late, if at all," Erhardt said. "It takes some effort and therapy for a relationship to be something besides a transaction. Actors and courtesans all marry and have normal families and lives, for the most part."

"Not dancers?"

"One of a dancers most frequent partners is death. Even if they reach retirement age, paranoia and a spotted history make it hard for them to have intimate relationships."

"Why choose that, then?"

"There are a thousand different reasons to enter the Institute, and even more when deciding upon a career path. I don't ask unless they offer."

Cordelia nodded slowly before the smallest of smirks formed on her face. "Can you imagine the look on Heathcote's face if I enrolled?"

"He'd murder me," Erhardt replied. "It would be worth it."

Cordelia chuckled. "What are escort classes like?"

"More than learning how to have sex well," Erhardt drawled. "Although such would be what most people believe. It was one of he more pleasurable parts of my training, at least for me."

"If not just that, then what?"

"Introductory psychology and sociology classes. A bit of biology. Anatomy, kinestisiology, and a bit of pathology. We have someone from Dohter come by and teach how to recognize and counteract drugs as well as provide a safe place for them to experience the effects so they'll be aware of what they're feeling. Self defense courses. A bit of legal so they know their rights and protections. As well as the how to sex good classes, of course.  You’re taught all applicable techniques, although you need not necessarily offer your services to all sexes. I do because I find it fun and women need to know what good sex feels like, damnit!"

Cordelia had looked more impressed and skeptical the longer Erhardt spoke. "Really?"

"It is easy to be a whore. It takes a lot more to be an escort. That's why I can charge the rate I do and why i have the title I do."

Cordelia voiced a quiet "Huh," and looked thoughtful. "And the others?  What about their training?"

"After first year?  I haven't the foggiest clue."

Cordelia laughed. "I suppose it wouldn't matter much to you would it?"

"Talk to the trainees. I'm sure they'll be happy to tell you. I know that the courtesan is the most academically rigorous and that they still take classes even during their probationary period. Escorts have the fewest classes, but the longest training period. Dancers and actors keep to themselves due to the nature of their actual jobs. Think of it like this. Escorts and courtesans are the 'daylight' version of the specializations. We do in the public eye what dancers and actors do in secret."

Cordelia nodded slowly.  "So, why choose the Institute in the first place?"

"Because normal schools don't teach you how to fuck correctly?"

Cordelia laughed and shoved Erhardt gently.  "No, I mean...why even bother going into second year at all?"

"Again, there are a thousand different reasons to do that, and I don’t ask unless the trainee or graduate offers.  I suppose you could consider us a sort of technical school, though."

"And they'd accept me?"

"Pay the entrance fee and take a few placement tests, and no one asks questions, at least for first year.  Second year onward...well, you’ll be interviewed to make sure you _understand_ what you’re getting yourself into, but they won’t ask you _why_.  At least, I never do when they drag me in to help with escort training."

“You, a teacher?”

“Horrifying, isn’t it?” Erhardt drawled.  “I tend to teach oral sex techniques.”

Cordelia’s face flushed red.  “Oh.”

Erhardt smirked.  “You want to ask _how_ , don’t you?”

Cordelia’s blush deepened.  “No! Not at all.”

Erhardt chuckled and kissed Cordelia’s forehead again.  “You’re so much fun to tease.”

Cordelia sighed and settled into Erhardt’s arms, and played with the fabric of his romper. 

"They’d accept me, even if the Ravus heir wanted to be a dancer?" she asked softly.

"The Azelhart heir is one," Erhardt pointed out before he looked curious. "Are you actually considering enrolling?  I’m sure we can test you out of a few of the courses, but the more advanced training will likely conflict with your graduate studies--and life in general.  Being a dancer isn’t easy, from the stories that Lady Primrose and I have swapped regarding our individual training."

Cordelia looked at the ground. "I suppose… I’m  just tired of people protecting me. Or thinking I'm too weak and thus don't trust me to be able to handle myself. I want...I don't know, I want to be more than just the heiress to Osterra’s largest fortune."

Erhardt nodded slowly. "There are a few dancer trainees living here. I can give you their names. Talk to them. If you decide...well, I'll get you in touch with Primrose or Yusufa. They’re primarily the ones who interview dancer candidates if they’re not out on a mission."  

Cordelia looked pensive, and Erhardt nudged her. 

"The young woman in the black leggings and green tunic. She's a dancer trainee, and the young woman with her is in training to be an actor. Do you want me to introduce you?"

Cordelia shook her head, and vigorously wiped her eyes.  “No. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it on my own.”

Erhardt ruffled her hair and gave her a final kiss for good luck.  “That’s the spirit.”

Cordelia slid off his lap, straightened her clothing, ran through the escort protocol Erhardt had taught her in order to relax herself, and then strode away from Erhardt and towards the trainees.

"The Manor is a bit confusing,” she called out as she approached the two young women.  “Why don’t I help you? What room are you supposed to…?"

Erhardt smiled faintly and watched as the trio walked away. 

_Heathcote really is going to kill me, E_ rhardt thought. _But, if this is what Cordelia needs, even if she doesn't do anything with the training, even if she never becomes an active agent, at least she will have it._

"Well, what to do now?" Erhardt asked aloud. "I suppose I actually have to help, don’t I?"

Erhardt leveraged himself out of the chair and meandered to the front of the manor to ostensibly be helpful, although he was pretty sure he’d just end up deliberately irritating Heathcote.


End file.
